The Abyss Gazes Also
by Chromatoast
Summary: The students of Monster High are under fire from New Salem, where a teenage boy has been found brutally slaughtered. Who's the monster now? Will the truth ever come to light, or is Monster High doomed for destruction by vengeance-seeking normies? Featuring Jackson / Holt, plenty of Spectra, Twyla, Howleen, and Frankie. NaNo 2013 winner. Updated every Saturday and Wednesday.
1. Chapter 1

Rain pounded the asphalt, thick heavy drops transforming the night into a shower of diamonds.

She floated over the eddying streams in the street. Her purple shoes dipped into the pool gathering at the payphone's concrete base.

The handset slipped through her hand the first time. She scowled, focusing, and managed to pick it up on the third try, cradling it on one pale shoulder, lavender lips at the mouthpiece.

The phone was silent. The cord had been cut months ago, but the phone remained, an eyesore for the locals, a monument of vague obsolete nostalgia.

She caressed the plastic and chrome body of the payphone, and a dial tone clicked in the handset, buzzing in her ear.

She fought to focus hard enough to press the buttons. The dial tone transformed into a distant, muffled ringing.

Spectra turned, peering through the sparkling night.

About five yards away, half in the gutter, one shoe on the sidewalk, the body of a teenage boy bled out into the night. At this distance, it was impossible to tell the difference between his blood and the puddle in which he lay face down.

She heard a click and sucked in a breath, readying herself.

"Hello?" said the voice of a half-asleep man.

He yawned while she fought to find the right words.

"Who is this?"

She mouthed letters, frantic, unable to speak. What was there to say?

"Gary? Is this you? ... Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"No," she said, her voice a whisper, and then froze, terrified.

"Just come home. I won't tell your mother. But if you break curfew again, you're grounded for a month, you hear me?"

She shivered as the phone clicked in her ear and the dial tone returned.

Spectra replaced the handset, stepping into the rain once more.

She stood staring at the dead boy on the curb until the cold became overwhelming. Shuddering inside her translucent purple coat, she turned westward and floated back to the only home she knew.


	2. Chapter 2

"Frankie, really, you have got to stop reading those." Clawdeen shook her head, taking the most recent TEEN FASH magazine from Frankie's hands and shoving it at Draculaura instead. "Those normie magazines will totally rot your brain."

"Uuuggghh," agreed Ghoulia, waving as she passed them in the hall.

Draculaura flipped the pages, scanning them with a smirk. "Oh, see? Look at this. 'Ten tricks to make your boyfriend love you even more'." She frowned, reading, then said after a few minutes, "None of these would work on any manster I know. Clawd just likes me to throw a stick for him now and then. Can you even imagine 'a moonlit stroll along the beach' with Jackson?"

Frankie smirked. "More like an incredibly loud and romantic serenade from Holt.."

Clawdeen gasped, jostling Frankie, who grabbed for her left hand, tightening the stitches before it snapped loose again. "Are you still with him? I thought you broke it off!"

"Well, we did. I mean, we're on pause." Frankie sighed. "It's a little complicated."

Clawdeen shook her head. "Waiting on him to get his mess together? Girl, you'd better get comfy."

"I'm not waiting, I'm just.." Frankie stopped, squinting. "Hey, isn't that Manny by Jackson's locker?"

Draculaura tilted her head. "Yeah."

"Probably getting his punches in before the late bell this morning," Clawdeen said with a grin.

"Hold these," said Frankie, shoving her remaining armful of magazines and her backpack at Clawdeen, who staggered back under their weight. "Manny Taur!"

Manny glanced back, defensive. He knew Frankie's no-nonsense tone, and immediately stepped back, hands up. "Hey, Frankie. Uh.. what's up?"

She scowled at him. "Are you picking on Jackson again? What did I tell you last time?"

Frankie turned, hearing a pained moan, and spotted Jackson curled up on the floor, writhing, his hands grasping at the edge of his locker door. His eyes were wide open, but his glasses had fallen off and lay bent a foot away from his body.

"What did you do to him?"

Manny shook his head, his eyes drifting back behind her. There was fear there, not the usual cowardly fear of being found but a genuine fear of something he didn't understand, and the sight sent a shiver down her spine.

Frankie stood, looking back towards Jackson, and saw an unfamiliar boy slumped against the row of lockers opposite Jackson's. He had a thick poof of dark hair piled atop his head and sparkling blue-green eyes which, at the moment, remained focused on the wiry, struggling nerd on the floor. It was clear he had to be the source of Jackson's discomfort, but what disturbed Frankie more was the expression on his face - a nonchalant, proud smirk - and the fact that she could hear him chuckling under his breath.

She stepped between the boy and his target. Behind her, Jackson let out a shuddering moan of relief, and she felt one shoe push against the back of her heel as he uncurled.

Those brilliant eyes gradually lifted to hers, and the boy cocked his head to the side. "Morning," he said, smiling.

"What is your problem?!"

He stuck out a hand. "Robin," he said, shrugging one shoulder, "but most folks call me Puck."

Frankie looked back. Draculaura and Clawdeen were in the midst of helping Jackson to his feet; Clawdeen handed him his glasses while he straightened his vest, blushing. He was pale, shaken, his face smeared with spittle and dirt from the floor. A gargoyle janitor waited at the end of the row of lockers, leaning against his mop handle, sighing with impatience.

"Yeah, I know what I'd like to call you," Clawdeen said in a growl.

Puck's glance flickered to her, venomous, then drifted back to Frankie. He kept his eyes locked to hers, but she felt he was sizing her up, getting a good look and liking what he saw. She sneered, stepping back. He made her feel dirty somehow.

"You OK?" asked Draculaura, giving Jackson a sweet smile.

He shook his head. "I think I need to see the nurse. I feel sick."

"All right. Come on." Clawdeen looped her arm through his, gesturing to Frankie, and they started off down the hall.

"What is your problem?" she said again, mystified, and turned to help her friends.

"My problem?" Puck scoffed, straightening. He was short, barely taller than Draculaura, but his bearing made him seem bigger. "My problem? What's your problem?"

She realized too late that he was following them, and hung back, not wanting to bring him within striking distance of Jackson again. She turned around, walking backwards so she could keep an eye on him. "What?"

"You're a monster, aren't you?" He stretched out his arms, indicating the flow of students through the hall. "Aren't we all? So what stops us from acting like it?"

Frankie's sneer intensified. "Jackson is our friend."

"Pfffft. He's a normie. Normies have never done anything nice for our kind. Just put us in boxes, forced us into hiding."

"No one here is hiding!"

He raised an eyebrow. "That's exactly what we're doing! They think we're disgusting, mischievious, dirty, deceitful, hideous.. So why not, if they're already punishing us? Why not be what they make us out to be?"

She forced a laugh. "You must be new here. We're better than that. We're true to ourselves. And Jackson's not a normie. Not entirely, anyhow."

"Yeah." Puck chuckled, smiling at her. "I heard about that. How's he like his alter ego, hmm? I bet they're best buds, right? Typical."

Frankie stopped, backing into the wall outside the nurse's office, and watched Puck's glance wander beyond the door, into the room. She could hear Jackson coughing within.

Puck nodded to himself, his eyes boring into her. "I'd hate myself, too, if I was half normie."


	3. Chapter 3

"Ugh, who was that creep?" Clawdeen nudged Frankie, causing her pencil to streak across the page of notes she was writing for Mad Science class. "Ooh. Sorry."

"I don't know. Some new kid." Frankie flipped the pencil and began erasing. "Have you seen Jackson?"

Clawdeen shook her head, glancing up at Draculaura, who shrugged. "Maybe he went home early. He did seem pretty upset."

Frankie set her pencil down, annoyed. "The thing that bugs me the most is the fact that.. we know lots of monsters with amazing and unusual abilities. Abbey. Heath. Jinafire. Even you guys. You know? But they all have the decency not to abuse those special traits. We don't use our gifts against each other."

"That's what he was doing, wasn't it?"

Frankie nodded.

"Maybe you should talk to Headmistress Bloodgood," Draculaura said, and, as if on cue, the speakers above crackled to life and the Headmistress' voice echoed through the stone room.

"There will be an emergency assembly in the vampitheater at exactly two-thirty this morning. All students and staff are required to attend. I expect to see all of you there. Thank you."

The speakers crackled once more, and the three girls exchanged a glance.

"What do you think that's about?"

Frankie shook her head. "I hate Mondays."

As soon as she'd released the button, Headmistress Bloodgood sat back in her chair and heaved a deep sigh.

She folded the paper she'd held clutched in her hand for the past few hours, and set it atop her desk, which was littered with torn envelopes and trifold letters, but she couldn't ignore it.

SLAIN TEEN FOUND, screamed the headline, bold 24-point letters refusing to be hushed or brushed away.

For a moment, she was drawn back into What if?. She closed her eyes. She'd hoped to keep the school clean for at least another century. No more blood spilled in these halls. She'd successfully managed the merger of various races, but had it created an undercurrent, an underground urge for savagery not satisfied by the school's rigorous athletics program or intellectual workload?

She wished she'd never given up smoking, and began to sweep the papers into a pile, searching for the manila folder beneath it all. The folder had arrived two days before the paper, and it was every bit as ominous as the delivery of an active nuclear weapon on the doorstep of the school. Someone in New Salem knew, or suspected they knew, and the Headmistress had been through this before. If Monster High couldn't bring the truth to light, then New Salem would take the school apart.


	4. Chapter 4

"Shut it up. Damn, your truck is so loud."

"It's the muffler. Gotta get it fixed."

"Yeah, it's always something. Shut it off, man. This is close enough."

Their breath came out as puffs of steam in the chill night air. Keith turned the key and the truck went quiet, ticking to itself.

Black trees lined the narrow drive. Through them, the full moon glided in an inky sky studded with flickering stars.

The three glanced at one another, discomforted.

"Come on," said Brad, shoving past them.

The tailgate on the truck slammed down, startling shrieking birds from the trees.

Keith frowned. "Listen, uh.. you really think this is a good idea?"

Brad dragged the duffel from the truckbed, slinging it over one broad shoulder, and the tailgate thundered a second time as he shoved it back into place. "You're joking, right?"

"It's just.. it's a little creepy, is all."

Darryl started to laugh. "You scared? You wanna go home to your mommy, Keith?"

"No. Shut up. I just.. you know.. it's illegal, isn't it?"

Brad unzipped the duffel, tossing it into the dirt at their feet, and withdrew their weapons. "Is murder legal?"

"What? No."

Darryl nodded, but there was fear in his face.

Brad looked up, staring into Keith's face as he gave his friend the ammo they'd just purchased. "You think they should get away with it just because they're different?"

"Look.." Keith accepted the cans, shoved them into the loops in his belt. "We don't know it was them. We don't know for sure."

"Yeah?" Brad stood with violent urgency, shocking both Keith and Darryl into stumbling back. "You know his parents keep getting prank calls late at night? Always around the same time? You know his little sister says she's seeing ghosts now? For Christ's sake. My own little brother is in on this bullshit. We gotta put a stop to it."

Darryl looked at the cans they held. "You think this'll stop them, Brad?"

"If it doesn't, I'm coming back with my shotgun. You've got my word."

They walked up the dirt drive, the only sound the occasional dry leaf crunching underfoot and their nervous, steamy breathing. The incline crested and at the top they paused, staring across a carefully manicured field and a sturdy stone wall at their prey.

"It's huge," Darryl sighed. "I don't think we brought enough."

"It's empty, you idiot. It's almost midnight."

Keith pursed his lips, frowning. "Let's get this over with."

They hopped the wall as a group and jogged, huffing, across the lush green field, dewy and shining under the brilliant moon.

Keith got into the shadow of the school first, and ran his hands over its ancient stones, searching for the right spot. He stepped back, surveying it, then took out a can and shook it. Brad rounded the corner just as Keith finished spraying a crude hot pink depiction of a penis, aimed at a partially open window near the floor.

"Nice!" Brad chuckled, slapping his friend on the back, and they came around the edge of the school together, readying twin cans of silly string.

Darryl thudded into them as they stood rooted to the spot.

In the courtyard, a dozen students had paused to stare at the newcomers, mild curiosity in their gazes. Some were indifferent, continuing to fiddle with their phones or their computers, not pausing their conversations with friends to bother gawking.

"Dude," Darryl hissed. "Look at that one, he's got.. he's got wolf ears."

Brad nodded, his fear dissolving into anger. "Any one of these freaks could be the one who tore Gary up. Let's go." He pushed his friends aside, marching forward.

The boy with wolf ears stepped up, an uncertain smile on his face. "Hey. Uh.. Can we help you guys with something?"

"Oh yeah." Brad sneered, giving him a shove. "You can tell us which of you killed our friend."

The boy scoffed and took a step back. "Excuse me?"

"We know it was you," Darryl said, crouching behind Keith.

Clawd glanced back at the other students, many of whom shook their heads or simply shrugged.

"Typical normies," Venus said with a pitying sniff. "Blaming all their troubles on everyone else."

"What'd you call me?!" Clawd put his hands up, holding Brad back as the boy fought to get to Venus. "I'll show you, plant girl! Keith.. give her a taste of what we've got!"

Keith looked at Venus, frowning. She was actually kinda hot, in a weird way. But if he refused, he knew Brad would kick his ass at school, so he held up the can of spray paint and hit the trigger.

The hot pink paint fell far short of Venus, but she drew in a deep breath, enraged. "Does that aerosol use a CFC-free propellant? Do you have any idea what chlorofluorocarbon has done to the ozone layer?!"

"Um.. what?" said Keith. The debate had already attracted the attention of other students, and the crowd in the courtyard was growing larger.

Brad swung his arm around the wolf-boy's head, bending him over in a headlock. "Was it you, wolf-boy? Did you kill him?"

"Hey! We didn't kill anyone! Why don't you go home?"

"Yeah, go sleep it off, jock!"

"Get off our turf!"

"And get your hands off Clawd!"

Keith ducked as a half-eaten apple was thrown at his head. He blinked, sure his eyes were playing tricks, because wading through the gathering crowd was a huge.. creature.. with the head of a bull.

"Get him, Manny!" shouted a boy with eyes and hair of flames from the school's front steps.

The bull-headed creature, Manny, Keith supposed, grunted and lowered his horns.

"Brad. Hey, Brad. Hey. We gotta go. Let him go. Let him go, man." Darryl pulled at the sleeve of Brad's letter jacket, but Brad was busy trying to squeeze all the breath out of the boy with the wolf ears.

"Ugh.. man.. you picked the wrong night for this," the wolf-boy said, his voice strained, laughing to himself.

Keith looked up at the sound of twin howls from the crowd. "Brad.. we should go."

"Quit pussing out and help me!" Brad said in a snarl.

Keith fell back, knocked on his back by a small, darting form that pushed past him. Brad lifted off the ground, shouting, carried and then tossed ten yards from the open courtyard. Two teenage girls, both with ears like the boy's, stood over him, daring him to move. Keith could hear them growling from where he sat.

"Clawd," said Manny, one dark eye locked on Keith's prone form. "You all right?"

"Yeah, man, I'm fine." The boy with wolf ears stood. He looked down at Keith, his smile gone. "You guys better get home before things get any worse."

Darryl launched himself into Clawd, knocking both of them back into Manny, who staggered backwards into the courtyard. Students fled, shouting, as the minotaur toppled. Stones cracked beneath his weight. Keith watched Clawd and Darryl wrestle. The werewolf easily deflected Darryl's attempts to grapple, trying to lure his opponent back out into the field and away from his classmates, but Darryl was either too stupid or too stubborn to take the hint.

There was a loud yelp from the field, and Keith turned to see Brad getting pounded into the dirt by the larger of the two werewolf girls while the smaller one hung back, her back hunched.

Clawd looked, too, and this gave Darryl the opening he'd been looking for. He swung into Clawd's jaw, whipping the boy's head sideways. Clawd recoiled with a snarl, swinging for Darryl. His claws caught flesh, tearing upwards, and Darryl cried out in pain.

"Yeah!" The flame-haired boy on the steps shadow-boxed, mimicking Clawd's punch. "Man, you are on fire!"

He pointed for emphasis, and Keith rolled to the side as twin jets of flame shot into the center of the courtyard. Instantly the stones turned black. A wave of heat washed over the crowd. Darryl shrieked, seared by the blast, and students scattered in panic. A stack of books beside a grey-skinned ghoul caught fire, followed by her backpack, the leg of her pants, and the papers she had been writing on. She groaned, scowling, but didn't seem bothered by it.

"Sorry! My bad!" The boy ran down the stairs, frantic to try and smother the flames, but he only seemed to be making it worse.

The double doors leading into the school swung outward, and through them stepped a stately woman in a long purple coat. She had no head. At least, not one on her shoulders. She carried her head in the crook of her elbow, and her violet eyes took in the scene with an air of increasing alarm.

Keith ran through the growing chaos and grabbed the back of Darryl's shirt. "Come on, bro. We've got to go."

"No! I'm not done with him yet!"

"Yes, you are. Come on..." The words died in his throat as he saw a slender girl, all grey, with sculpted wings, striding toward them through the flames. She stared straight at him, into him, and her expression was one of noble determination. "Gargoyle," he said, pulling on Darryl's shirt as he felt fear forming a cold stone in his stomach. "Gargoyle. Come on. Darryl, give it up."

"Like hell I will." The werewolf's breathing had become tight and shallow, but he continued to avoid Darryl's clumsy strikes.

Keith backed away as she came closer. She knelt beside the pair as they continued to wrestle. "_Pardonnez-moi, messieurs_, but it is time for the fight to end. Fighting is not allowed on school grounds."

"Get him off of me, Rochelle!"

The girl nodded, and as Clawd pushed Darryl away she scooped her arms underneath him, neatly lifting him up and away.

Darryl fought. He grabbed for Clawd, he swung punches, he kicked and flailed. As Rochelle carried him away, he twisted in her arms and slammed his fist into the side of her face.

She stopped walking and stared at him, her eyes narrowing.

Darryl's eyes filled with water. Keith watched him fight the urge to cry. He withdrew his crumpled hand, curling it against his chest.

She lifted her chin and unceremoniously dropped him to the ground. "I urge you to return home at once."

Keith looked down at him. "That was a stupid thing to do, man."

"I think she broke my hand!"

"You broke your hand. And you hit a girl." Keith turned, looking out at the field. Behind him he heard a sharp whistle. He saw two pairs of pointy ears perk up, then the two teen girls strolled back to the courtyard, adjusting their clothes and hair as they walked. The smaller of the two was limping. He glanced back at Clawd, who gave him a nod. Under the circumstances, it was less than friendly, but not hostile. _Another warning_, he thought. "Come on. Let's go get Brad and get the hell out of here."


	5. Chapter 5

The door to her office fell shut, and Headmistress Bloodgood looked up from another enraged letter out of New Salem. "Ah, Spectra. Thank you for coming to see me so quickly. Please, sit down."

"Is this about the attack on the school? Do you mind if I record our conversation? I don't want to get any of the facts wrong -"

"Please, sit down," the Headmistress said with emphasis, and Spectra nodded, settling herself into a chair. "Are you recording now?"

"No. Give me just a moment.."

"No, no. I don't want you to record this. Spectra, I need you to give me your iCoffin."

Spectra gasped, clutching the little purple box to her chest. "What? I can't do that!"

The Headmistress frowned, reaching out. "Your blog is very popular among students here, but it can also be found by normies, including those currently living in New Salem. We don't want any information reaching them. It could make the situation far more serious than it already is. You must give me your phone."

"Oh, Headmistress! Surely you can trust me. I swear on my mother's grave!"

"I'm sorry, Spectra, but dire times call for dire measures."

"Are you going to take everyone else's phones too?"

The Headmistress frowned. "They are not nearly as much a danger to school security, are they?"

The ghost girl hung her head, allowing locks of pale purple hair to fall into her translucent face. Finally she nodded, looking away, and allowed the Headmistress to take the phone from her hand.

"There now. That wasn't so bad. Thank you, Spectra. You're protecting the school by doing this."

Spectra's brow furrowed, uncertain, but she nodded.

"Now, go down to the vampitheater. Assembly begins in ten minutes. I'll be there shortly."


	6. Chapter 6

The air in the vampitheater felt hot and thick, heavy with tension and unease. Frankie shifted in her seat, eager to return home and finish her Biteology homework, while beside her the Wolf siblings bickered over who had to sit closer to Clawd, still grimy from the normie attack and as yet unshowered. She could see, in the rows ahead, Gil and Lagoona, arms linked, both their expressions tense with concern; Deuce and Cleo, ever the power couple, appearing fully calm and collected; and along the far right-hand side of the row, Venus, Rochelle, and Robecca, talking quietly among themselves.

"Sorry I'm late," Draculaura said, squeezing between Frankie's knees and the row of seats before them. "I spilled tomato juice on my blouse and it just didn't want to come off! Lucky for me I had an extra in my locker. It's so last season and totally clashes with my earrings but hopefully no one will notice. Ugh.." She paused, having reached Clawd's seat, and sat down beside him, wrinkling her nose. "Did someone take off their shoes?"

"Your boyfriend didn't bother to shower before showing up," Clawdeen said, holding her nose. "You've got to housebreak that boy, Lala."

Clawd's ears went back, and Draculaura petted his arm, grinning. "It's all right, Clawd. Everything still smells like tomatoes to me. I'm just glad to be here with you."

Clawdeen made a mock gagging sound, then crouched in her seat as the overhead lights dimmed. Headless Headmistress Bloodgood strolled out onto the stage.

The Headmistress cleared her throat, adjusted the microphone at the podium, and carefully placed her head at its edge. "Students and faculty of Monster High, thank you for attending this very important emergency assembly. I'll make it as brief as I can.

"Some of you may have witnessed the.. incident.. in the courtyard earlier this evening. I assume you're wondering what that was all about. It isn't often we have visitors from New Salem, and even less common for them to venture so close to the school. If any of you are feeling unsafe, I urge you to speak with your ghouldance counselors. We will be increasing school security in the days to come, which I'll discuss in detail later."

From the wings, a stout gargoyle wheeled out a small end table, on which a laptop had been propped on top of a projector. Headmistress Bloodgood bent down to press keys, and soon a newspaper headline appeared against the white wall at her back. SLAIN TEEN FOUND, it read.

"Last week, a body was found in the streets of New Salem. It would seem that, due to the condition of the body, the police of New Salem believe the boy was killed by a monster of some sort. I apologize for the graphic images which I must share with you, but you have to understand why they believe it was one of us."

"One of us?" Venus cried. "That's ridiculous!"

Frankie cringed at the sudden loudness as the room filled with shouts of agreement. Lagoona rose from her seat, gesturing and shouting at Venus, but Frankie couldn't hear what she said until the shouting had died down.

"They're just trying to get answers," Lagoona said, her cheeks going pink as she realized how many students were listening. "Reacting like this will only provoke more fighting. We should help them, not fight them."

"Please. They came here looking for a fight. I say, let's bring the fight to them!"

"Yeah!" Manny's bellow carried across the vampitheater. Frankie craned her neck back to see a cluster of the boys from the casketball team giving one another high-fives and shouting their encouragement to Venus. She glanced down the row of seats to Clawd, watching his friends with a mixture of concern and longing.

"Please, students, calm down," said the Headmistress, and when that didn't work, she flicked to the next image in the projector.

A hush fell over the assembled crowd as they stared at the screen. Clawd startled as Draculaura promptly slid out of her seat, unconscious.

"Death is not the worst that was done to this boy," Headmistress Bloodgood said, looking over the appalled faces of her students. She clicked to the next image.

Frankie raised her hand.

"Yes, Frankie?"

Unable to move her eyes from the remnants on the screen, Frankie said, "My dad could fix that."

"Yes, I'm sure he could. However I doubt that this boy's parents would be pleased with the outcome. The normies are very attached to their physical selves, and have a hard time tolerating any disruption in their form. It is part of the reason why relations between our cultures are so strained." She clicked to the next, watching students cringe and wince in empathy. After a solid minute, she turned off the projector. An audible sigh of relief coursed through the room. "I implore you, students: if you have any knowledge about this - anything at all - please let someone on the staff know. Even if it's only a suspicion or a rumor. We must help our neighbors solve this mystery - not only because it is the right thing to do, but also to clear our own names."

"Uh, Headmistress?" Clawdeen called out. Other students were raising their hands, shouting, rising from their seats.

"Please, one at a time. I'm sure you all have many questions. Clawdeen?"

"You said something about increasing security? What's that going to look like?"

A three-eyed girl a few rows back jumped up. "Will it be safe to walk to school?"

"Well," the Headmistress began, then paused as she was interrupted.

"Are we going to have to carpool?"

"The doors aren't going to be locked, are they?"

Frankie sighed, lowering her chin into one hand. It was beginning to look like she wouldn't get to finish that homework tonight, after all.


	7. Chapter 7

Clair snapped awake, one hand clenching around the pocketknife she kept under her pillow.

There it was again. A muffled thump, followed by.. cursing?

She sat up. The burgundy curtains flapped against the open frame of her bedroom window. It had been shut when she went to bed.

She drew the knife out from under her pillow and leaned across the mattress to fumble for the light switch.

Another thump, followed by angry, quiet cursing, and movement.. inside her room. Beyond the foot of the bed.

She hit the switch, and a soft white light illuminated half the room. "Freeze, you bastard, or I'm calling the police!"

"Hey, hey, now, just calm down." His back was to her, hands held carefully above his head. "Don't get crazy now." She could see a red leather jacket, an eyebrow piercing, tousled hair the color of flames, a half-worn pair of headphones with flame decals on the side.

"Jesus," she sighed, lowering the knife into her lap. She glanced at the clock beside her lamp, frowning. "I hope you don't think climbing into my bedroom window at three in the morning is going to earn you any special favors, other than almost getting stabbed or arrested."

Holt turned, grinning. "Why? You offering? Are you a lonely ghoul tonight?" He hopped up onto the foot of the bed, kicking his shoes off the side.

Clair scoffed, but she knew she was blushing. She pulled the comforter up, discomforted by his nearness and the fact that she was wearing little more than a t-shirt. "So? What is it? Why are you here? And try to keep the volume down. My dad's a light sleeper."

Holt settled himself, cross-legged, and dug in the pockets of his coat. She listened to the tinny, muffled music from his headphones while he eventually found a cigarette and pulled her lighter from the nightstand drawer.

"Does Jackson know you're smoking again?" she asked as he lit it.

He shook his head, inhaling, and blew out a cloud of pungent clove-scented smoke. "What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

"What he doesn't know could kill him, Holt. You need to be a bit more considerate."

He smirked, winking at her through the thin trail of smoke off the cigarette's end, and mimicked her statement: "You need to be more considerate. He's the one who's stressing me out, man. If he'd relax, I could relax, wouldn't need a nicotine stick, you know?"

"I don't need the smoke in my bedroom, either. You could at least stand by the window."

Muttering, Holt rose off the bed, swung his legs out the windowsill, and sat with them dangling over the porch roof. "Better?"

"A little."

"It's lonesome over here. And you can't possibly hear me." He half-shouted that, and Clair winced,glancing at the door.

"I can hear you fine. Quiet down. What's JJ doing that's stressing you out?"

"Aw, man. It's him and my mom both. They're going nuts over that dead kid."

She stiffened, bunching the comforter in one fist. "Dead kid?"

"Yeah. It's gotta be all over the news, Clair. Don't pretend to be clueless."

She nodded. "I saw it in the paper. And it's all over the school, I mean, really, it's all anyone wants to talk about. Like nobody ever died before."

Holt shook his head, turning to look at her. "Not like this. Not for a long time, at least." He looked out at the night sky, blowing puffs of pale grey smoke.

Clair pushed the comforter back, snatching up a pair of shorts from the bedroom floor, and wriggled into them before Holt turned back. She joined him at the window, gazing out. "Do you think someone at school did it?"

He shook his head again. "Don't think so. Don't know. But the normies - sorry, your classmates - seem to have made their minds up."

"What?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "You'll hear about it at school tomorrow. Let's see if I can guess how it'll go. A pack of vicious, bloodthirsty monsters pounced on some innocent jocks who were strolling through the woods picking wildflowers.."

Clair gave him a shove.

"I'm not kidding! That's how they'll tell it, trust me!"

"I know." Clair grinned as he pushed her into the windowframe, laughing. "Really, though.. what happened?"

He shrugged one shoulder, nonchalant. "Couple of jocks came onto school grounds to get revenge. Found out why that's not such a good idea. Heath set some stuff on fire. The usual."

She grinned, then, as it occurred to her, asked, "He didn't set one of them on fire, did he?"

"Nah, just singed him a little bit. The zombies got it worse."

"Oh. OK. And Jackson's worried about this?"

"All I know is, whenever I come around, I wake up all tense and achey and.." He frowned, looking away. "You know."

Clair nodded. Scared: she could see it in his face, in his posture. Sure, Jackson was a bit jumpy, occasionally paranoid, but if Holt was waking up scared, there was something wrong. "Well, he's.. he's one of us. And right now nobody at school is willing to side with him."

"I get it," Holt said, annoyed, "but it pisses me off. I've got a right to be there. We both do, Jackson and I. Now, because some lame-brain normie kid gets himself killed and New Salem decides it couldn't possibly be some looney in their town, he's scared half to death and my tank's running low! Some nights I just don't feel like dancing anymore. Can't throw a party like that." He stubbed out his smoke on the windowsill, frustrated, and swept the ashes onto the roof. "Listen, babe, I gotta hustle. A few more hours and the nerd wakes up."

"Hang on." Clair reached across her desk, grabbing for a scratch pad and pen. She scribbled a quick note, handing it out the window to Holt. "Put this in your pocket, OK? For Jackson."

"Oh, sure. Jackson gets cute little notes and sympathy. I get threatened with stabbing and arrest."

"Life isn't fair," Clair grinned.

Holt extended his hand and she took it, smiling. "See ya."

"Yeah. Tell your mom I said hi."

"Sure," Holt said, and lowered himself down over the roof's edge, dropping onto the porch. She watched him cross the yard, adjusting his headphones, then jog up the sidewalk. He turned to wave, and she waved back before closing the window and the curtains. Standing with her back to the window, she gave a sigh, looking at the clock.

"Should've just stabbed him and gone back to sleep," she said, crawling back into bed, and clicked off the light.


	8. Chapter 8

"Madame?"

Rochelle stepped through the doorway, head bowed, as Bloodgood set down her pen. "What is it, Rochelle?"

The gargoyle straightened, but she wouldn't meet the Headmistress' eyes. "I have come to confess. I am guilty."

Bloodgood looked down at the stack of letters on her desk, the envelopes near her hand, the folded damning newspaper at the edge of her desk. She stood, stepping around Rochelle, and gingerly closed the door. "Guilty of what, exactly, Miss Goyle?"

Now those pale pink eyes flickered to hers, and Rochelle cleared her throat. "In the attack, I was responsible for one of the boy's injuries."

The Headmistress tried not to let her relief show. She let out a slow breath and gave the young woman a stern but empathetic look. "Did you intentionally attack him?"

"No, madame. He and Clawd were wrestling, and Clawd asked that I remove him. As I did so, he struck me. I'm afraid my complexion may have damaged his hand."

Bloodgood smiled and was gratified to see the stone girl's shoulders visibly relax. "It's nothing to concern yourself about. I'm sure he is fine. If you like, I can get the boy's name from his school, and make it possible for you to make amends in person."

"Yes. I'd like that very much."

"Rochelle.. is that all? Have you seen or heard anything else that might lead you to..."

Her eyes widened, surprised, then drifted as she thought it over. "I'm afraid not, Headmistress, but I shall keep my eyes open."

"Yes.. I would appreciate that. I'd hope that your nature might make it easier for us to solve this problem in good time."

Rochelle nodded, grinning, and turned towards the door. "Oh - one more thing. I am wondering if I might be allowed to help clean the courtyard. There are burns and cracks in the stone.. not to mention blood.. and I hardly think such a sight is befitting our school. I realize the janitors are capable but I would be honored to have a hand in the restoration."

"Of course. Who do you have next period?"

"Monsieur Rotter, madame."

"I'll notify him that you will not be in attendance today, and I'll inform the janitorial staff. You can join them in the courtyard. Thank you, Rochelle."

Rochelle gave a small bow. "It is my duty."


	9. Chapter 9

Deuce shook his head, snakes hissing. "I've seen some crazy stuff, but that looked like a werewolf attack to me. No offense, Clawd."

"What do you mean, 'no offense'?" Clawd dodged Deuce's attempted block and shot the ball over his head, watching Heath backpedal to catch it. "I've never seen a 'wolf do anything like that. We're brutal sometimes, yeah, but we're not.. we're not animals, dude. Heath!"

"Sorry." Heath got up, dusting himself off, and gave Manny a shove. "The bull got in my way."

"No, he didn't. Get your head in the game or get off the court. You hear me?"

"I'll get it," Deuce said, jogging across the gymnasium floor to retrieve the casketball, which was rolling towards the hall.

Clawd retreated to center court, trailed by Slo Mo, Heath, and Manny. "Come on, guys. You're off. We've got a game on Friday."

"Yeah.. I don't think that's going to happen."

He frowned at Heath, who gave him an almost apologetic smile. "Why not?"

"Well, we're kind of suspected of murder, aren't we?" Manny said.

"Got it. Heads up!" Deuce tossed the ball from the sidelines. Clawd watched as it cleared Manny's horns, hit the court, bounced six feet into the air, and eventually rolled to his feet.

"Look, guys, we're not all suspects. Right?"

"Uh, yeah, we are. 'Teen boy killed by monsters'. Which monsters? Who cares? Let's burn the place to the ground!" Heath flamed up at the thought, startling Manny back a few steps.

"You don't think it was somebody here, do you?" Manny asked.

Clawd sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as Deuce walked up to his side. "Heath, tone it down, OK? This isn't.."

"I mean.. which one of us is next?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Deuce adjusted his shades, smirking, confident. "It's just some normie whack job. Happens all the time. I didn't mean to set them off, Clawd, really."

Manny grunted. "I gotta go. If I'm late for Home Ick one more time, Kindergrubber said she'd send a note home to my folks."

"Right. See ya, Manny."

Clawd took the ball, dribbling out towards the hoop. He turned, noting Heath, Deuce, and Slo Mo were still at center court. Crossed the three-point line and jumped. The ball hit the backboard, the rim, spun, and sank; he hit the ground panting, caught the ball, and dribbled back.

"What? Come on, guys, let's go, let's go!"

Heath gave him a sidelong glance that said everything. He slowed to a stop, staring at his friends, noting their distance, their unusual lack of connection. "Hey.." He swiped sweat from his forehead with one forearm. "You know what would be fun? I just got my paws on 'Grand Guignol 5'. You guys wanna come over and fang out tonight?"

"Yes," Heath said, a bit too quickly.

Deuce shrugged, looking away. "Sure, dude. Whatever. I heard that game is sick."

Slo Mo groaned, a smile forming like condensation on his lantern-broad face.

"Yeah, okay." Clawd smirked at them. "I'll pick up some munchies on my way home after school, how's that? I could use a little guy time." He threw the ball at Deuce, who caught it, chest-level, one eyebrow raised. "But this game is over, you losers."


	10. Chapter 10

Clawdeen wove through the throng of students rushing for the doors as the bell rang. "I don't know, Frankie.. it's always so crowded at my place. I was kinda hoping we could fang out at yours."

"Yeah, which would be great, except my dad's all 'oh no, normie mobs'. Seriously, do you want to know how many times I heard the phrase 'fire bad' last night? And I don't even know what it means."

She snorted laughter. "Maybe he's warning you not to go out with Holt."

"Yeah, or Heath. Right?"

"Right! Okay, well, I'm going to call Lala and see if we can crash at her place then, OK? Call you back."

"OK. Later."

The werewolf girl grunted as she was shoved into the corridor wall. "Excuse me!" she barked, turning. "Rude much?"

It was that creepy boy, the one with poofy dark hair and sparkling eyes. He gave her a smirk over his shoulder. "You're excused."

Clawdeen stood still a moment, debating whether to chase him, but her phone rang. Draculaura. She answered it in a snarl. "Hello?"

"Whoa, Clawdeen, is this a bad time?"

"No, I just ran into that little creep again. He shoved me."

"What a jerk! Listen, I know you wanted to fang out tonight, but I totally can't."

Clawdeen groaned. "Don't tell me Rotter gave you two pounds of homework, too."

"No, not really, it's just.. Dad's got his cape in a bunch. Like, seriously. He even came and got me from school early."

She grunted. She'd been wondering where Lala was in Mad Science.

"He's all 'they always blame the vampires' and 'why didn't I put in a moat'. He says I have to go nocturnal, can you believe it? Oh my ghoul. Like Old World weirdness."

"Oh, Lala, I'm sorry. Are you going to be OK?"

"Oh, sure. He's just my dad, silly. Besides, this whole thing will blow over soon, I hope. Ugh, why did that normie boy have to go and get murdered? It's totally killing my social life."

"D, doesn't your dad.. you know.. feed on normies? Probably from New Salem?"

"Shoot, I gotta go. Dad's waking up. Laters!"

Clawdeen tucked the phone into her pocket, scanning the trickle of students for Puck, but he was nowhere to be seen. Just as she rounded the corner, she bumped into Frankie and Jackson, standing beside the boy's locker.

"Hey. Lala's a no-go. Her dad's got a major fang-ache over this whole ordeal."

"Shoot." Frankie chewed her lower lip, watching Jackson stuff books into his backpack. "What are you doing tonight, Jackson?"

"Oh, actually, uh, I have a ton of schoolwork to catch up on.."

Clawdeen made urgent gestures of NO! at her friend, who pretended to ignore them. "Is this real schoolwork, or is this, like, 'I have to read the whole physics textbook before everyone else in class' schoolwork?"

Jackson blushed, tugging at the straps of his backpack. "You know me so well, Frankie."

"Hey! Jekyll! My man!" Heath burst into their cluster, throwing one arm around his cousin's shoulders. "You busy tonight?"

"It's a busy night for everyone," Jackson said, confused.

"Me and the guys are going over to Clawd's. Gonna play some 'Grand Guignol 5', eat pizza, chill, you know."

"Oh my ghoul," Clawdeen groaned, putting her face in her hands. "I thought my night couldn't get any worse!" She grabbed at the front of Frankie's shirt, pleading. "Don't leave me alone with them. Come over. I'll cook your favorite dinner, I swear."

Frankie grinned, apologetic. "I should really just go home. I don't want my parents to worry, you know?"

"Take me with you!"

"I can't." Frankie hitched up her backpack, heading for the doors. "Sorry, Clawdeen. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"If I survive!" She turned to glare at the boys. "Invasion of the dweebs. Ugh. May as well get home and lock my door early." She stormed down the steps, following the path Frankie took, radiating fury.

Jackson turned to Heath. "I can't, either. I have a literal ton of homework tonight."

"Like I don't? Skip it. Tonight's guy night! Party night! Come on!"

Jackson raised an eyebrow, stepping out from under Heath's arm. " 'Party night'," he said, his tone thick with distaste. "So, um.. are you inviting me, or Holt?"

Heath shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Both? Either? You, man, I am inviting you."

"Well, I am both of.. of us, so.."

Heath sighed. "All right, maybe I was hoping to see Holt. I love that guy. But I like fanging out with you, too, dude."

"Right."

"I do," Heath said. "You can be fun, sometimes."

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint, but I have a prior engagement."

Heath blinked.

Jackson gave a sigh. "I'm busy. I can't go. Sorry. Have fun, and I guess I'll see you guys tomorrow, huh?"

"Aw, man, come on." Heath kicked at the lockers, disappointed.


	11. Chapter 11

"Dad! I'm home!"

Venus pushed through the 'Employees Only' swinging door and tossed her backpack in the corner of the greenhouse. "Brought you some dinner," she called, slinging a bag of plant food up onto the counter.

"It better not be that plant fertilizer s**t!"

She grinned, picking up a watering can, and began her after-school routine of checking on the two dozen plants in various pots along the greenhouse wall. "Dad, I thought we agreed, we're going vegan."

" 'We' ain't goin' nowhere unless there's blood involved! I need meat, girl!"

"No, you only want meat." She petted the full fronds of a stooped potted palm, pouring water into its base. "Look at you, Harvey, getting so tall and strong. You're going to be just beautiful. Yes, you are. And little Violet.. is this your second set of leaves already?"

"How's about this." She turned; Dad was in the doorway now, his tentacle-like roots clinging to the walls and the doorjamb, his massive smile contagious. "You bring me blood, add all the plant food s**t you like, and I promise you I will eat it all."

"Daddy." Venus smiled, patting him. "I've told you before, I'm not a killer."

"You're killin' me, girl! Feed me!"

She pulled out a metal stool and took a seat at the table, pouring herself a tall glass of water from the can. "Daddy? You lived with normies for a while, didn't you?"

He grunted, dragging himself to her side, tentacles curling affectionately around her waist and legs. "From a seedling, little britches."

"What was that like?"

"Oh, honey. Terrible, just terrible."

Venus finished the water and tore off the top strip of the plant food bag. She scooped out a portion with her glass, holding it out to her father, who shook his trap, recoiling in disgust. Shrugging, she took a handful and munched on it. "Well, but they fed you, didn't they? The way you want to be fed? And they took care of you?"

"Oh boy, did they ever. That boy tried to kill me. I took care of them, though. Yes I did!"

She didn't join in his laughter. "They killed for you," she said, when he paused for breath.

"So what? I'd kill for you."

"That's different."

"I don't think so, sweetheart. Give me some of that nasty junk. I'm just hungry enough to try it."

He opened his massive trap, and she sprinkled some of the plant food inside. He made ugly gagging sounds at first, but then drew back, digesting it with thoughtful noises.

"See, darling, the big difference between us and them is, we're survivors. They can uproot us, slash and burn us, poison the air we breathe.. we adapt. We grow. And we get our vengeance, in the end." He stroked her chin. "We may be monsters, but we're not weaklings. Now quit all the jabber and go count the till. Sold almost five hundred roses today."

Venus slid off the stool, still chewing, and went out into the main room of her father's flower shop. She hit the key to open the cash drawer while her father rummaged through the bag of plant food.

"Only two reasons humans buy roses," he said, as she drew the bills out into her leaf-patterned hands and started to count. "They've fallen in love, or someone's dead."


	12. Chapter 12

Jackson closed the door behind himself, shivering. He checked the thermostat as he passed through the hall.

"Dad?" he called down the basement stairs, and knocked on the door lightly. "Are you home?"

He heard the clatter of metal tools, then saw his father's smiling face from the bottom of the stairs.

"Hey, Jackson. How was your day?"

He shrugged. "Pretty good. I'm going over to Claire's tonight. Is that all right?"

"Yeah." Dr Jekyll climbed the stairs, removing his gloves, squinting in the bright light of the hall lamps.

"So it must be around three or four, right?"

"It's four-thirty, Dad."

"OK. Um.. are you hungry?"

Jackson tilted his head at his father - a trait he'd inherited from Mom. "Let me guess. You haven't eaten today?"

"Well, I had a breakthrough. Got to work early. I've been so focused.."

He followed his father into the kitchen, watching him dig through the refrigerator. "Are you and mom OK?"

"What?" Dr Jekyll stood, a half-unwrapped sandwich in one hand, a gallon of orange juice in the other. "Of course. What makes you say.."

Again Jackson tilted his head, smirking, and his father took a long drink straight from the container of juice.

"OK. Yes. We had a little spat last night. I'm working on some.. controversial.. matters.. right now.." He blinked, staring into middle space, and Jackson waited, knowing his father's brain had temporarily returned to work. After a minute he blinked again, smiling at his son, and slid into one of the chairs at the dining table. "Your mother disagrees with my motives sometimes. It's nothing serious. Nothing to be worried about." He bit a chunk from the sandwich and, mouth full, said, "How are you and Holt?"

Jackson sniffed, taking the seat opposite his father. "About as good as you and Mom."

Dr Jekyll grunted, appreciative, licking his lips.

"Probably a bit worse, actually. I think he's smoking again."

His father frowned, eyes narrowing, and swallowed. "I'll start doing room sweeps in the morning, OK? If I find any smokes, I'm throwing them out."

"Good. OK." Jackson sat, watching his father eat, then said, "Can I ask what might be a stupid question?"

"There are no stupid questions," his father said with a wink.

"Great-grandpa was a scientist, like you, right? But people.. normies, I mean.. regard him as a monster. Was he a monster because of his creation, or because of what the creation caused him to become?"

Dr Jekyll's brow furrowed with thought. He spent a few moments licking the remnants of sandwich from his fingers, then took a hearty gulp from the juice container. Wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his lab coat, he said, "He asked questions no mortal wanted to ask, and he fought to find an answer.. and he sacrificed himself for that knowledge. His hunger for knowledge was so great that it meant more than everything we - 'normies' - are taught to want. More than money, more than love, more than family, more than freedom. That's what makes him a monster: the burning drive for truth, that fearlessness, when others would be content with comforting lies and complacency." He nodded, satisfied, then said, "I like to think he and I are very similar. But I flatter myself."

"So you're proud of that?"

"Of course. Aren't you? The truth is powerful. As it says in the Bible, 'the truth shall set you free'." Dr Jekyll grinned, rising from the table. "I have to get back to work. When are you leaving for Claire's?"

"Pretty soon."

"Well, bang on the door, and I'll give you a ride. We don't want you walking the streets right now." He pursed his lips, suddenly tense. "I'm sure you understand, right?"

"I get it, Dad. Thanks."

"Yeah. Leave Claire's number on the fridge, too, OK? You know how your mom worries."


	13. Chapter 13

Hours later, the edge of that iceberg of realization still bothered him. He picked at the chicken lo mein on his plate, watching Clair eat, until she buried her face in a napkin and gave him an embarrassed half-smile.

"Do I have food on my face or something? You keep staring at me."

"Oh. Sorry. I've got a lot on my mind." He looked down at the plate, twirling the fork in his fingers.

"Anything you want to talk about?"

He shook his head, shrugged one shoulder. "Just the usual. Holt's a pain in the ass, et cetera, et cetera." He sighed and set the fork down, leaning back in his chair.

"If you need to vent, I'm totally here."

"I just don't understand how my father can be so proud of his heritage, when I'm so ashamed of mine. I mean, not him - I love my dad - but.. he embraces it, you know? He's fine with being called a monster. To him, it doesn't matter. Or my mom, either. So what's my problem?"

Clair frowned. "I'm trying to understand," she said, uncertain. "You don't want to be considered a monster, or you do?"

"I don't know. That's the problem. I just want to be one or the other. Not.. this."

She nodded. "You're bothered by having a dark side?"

"That's putting it lightly."

"You're supposed to be disgusted by it, Jackson. That's your normie side. Natural reaction." She shrugged, swirling up another forkful of noodles. "Holt is everything you want to be, but also everything you resist allowing yourself to be. He's indulgence, volume, wickedness, chaos. He wants to be popular; you couldn't care less. He needs to be the center of the action; you're happy on the sidelines. Everyone has that, but not everyone's duality is so obvious." She put the fork in her mouth, chewing, and with her mouth full said, "I used to be scared all the time, you know that? Heck, I still am. But now I embrace it, I've made it.." She swallowed. "Part of me. I'm a monster because I can take the fear and draw power from it, rather than being paralyzed. I've made myself a monster, and it's made me stronger."

Jackson shook his head, slumping over his plate. "Holt doesn't make me stronger. He just makes me vulnerable. Puts me in danger."

"Right. I know." Clair rose, walking around the table to give his shoulders a brief, affectionate squeeze. "And that's why I've enrolled in Advanced Chemistry."

Jackson started, sitting up in his chair. He watched Clair gather their plates and bring them into the kitchen, setting them beside the sink. "Wait.. what?"

She laughed. "I know. That was about the hottest thing I could've said to you, right?"

He blushed, rising from the table. "Are you serious?"

"Yep." Clair slouched onto the couch, lifting one sock-clad foot onto the coffee table. "I know it's hard for you to find yourself right now. Harder than it is for most other kids your age. So I figured we could work together to try and.. evict.. Holt."

"Is that even possible?" He sat down beside her, staring, mind racing.

"I don't know. Are you willing to try and find out?"

"Yes. Yes, no question."

"Well, don't get too excited. I'm still in the first few weeks. We're still doing review. Haven't learned anything really useful yet. But when I do.."

Jackson gaped, at a loss for words. "Clair," he said, after a long moment, "that's the nicest thing that anyone has.."

"Oh, shut it. Don't go getting all mushy on me. You want to watch a movie?"

He glanced at the clock on the wall. "No. I should probably get going, actually. It's only an hour until sunset."

"Oh, come on. I thought you were crashing here tonight."

He looked across at her. She grinned, then quickly stifled it, sure she was blushing. "On the couch, Romeo."

"Right, of course. I mean, I wouldn't.. I didn't.."

"It's OK. If you want to go home, that's cool, but I thought we could hang out a while longer. If you want to."

He nodded. "I'd love to. I'd like that, I mean. Um.. what if Holt.."

Clair shook her head, dismissive. "I can deal with Holt. Don't worry. Did you know he's smoking again?"

"I suspected as much, yeah."

She watched him for a moment. "He says you're really stressed lately."

"Are you guys hanging out behind my back?"

She shrugged. "He came by last night. No big deal. You want to talk about it?"

He shook his head, making a purposeful but awkward attempt to relax into the couch cushions. "Nothing to talk about. I'm always stressed."

"It's the Spazzington's, isn't it?"

He laughed, nodding. "Yes. It's a Spazzington's flare-up." She stayed quiet, watching him, and he glanced down at her, concerned that he'd ruined the mood. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," she said, looking away. She gathered herself, looked into space. "You're awfully cute, Jackson, and sometimes I think about the fact that I can't dance with you. Let's talk about the dead kid. He says you and your mom have gotten wacky about it."

He sat quiet for a long moment, taken by surprise. "We could waltz," he said at last.

"Yeah, I thought about that. Ballroom dancing with you and breakdancing with Holt. Sounds like heaven. Dead kid. Go. You've got to get it off your chest."

He took a deep breath, resistant, and she stared at him, keeping her face neutral. Then, in lucid, thinking-aloud mode, Jackson said, "I'm scared. Serial killers are scary enough when they're not targeting kids your own age and potentially attending your own school. Everyone in school is anti-normie now, it seems, except maybe Lagoona and Frankie, but they're being drowned out. There's so much hate and intolerance in there now. I can't take it."

She nodded. "It's the same way at my school, but at least I'm not in the middle of it, knowing I'm.. one of the targets."

"I'm always a target. That's how I feel, anyhow." He stretched, rubbed the back of his neck, rolled his shoulders. Head lowered, he ran his hands through his hair. "Clair.. what if it was him? What if Holt did it?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?"

"How would I know?"

"He's sloppy. He would have left evidence."

Jackson nodded, desperation in his eyes.

"No," she said, shrinking back. "Really?"

"We've been keeping a journal, OK? I hate it but it's one way of trying to keep Holt in contact and on track. Last week's notes were all sloppy.. worse than usual, I mean.. and there was one page just smeared with.. it looked like blood to me."

"No.. Did it say anything?"

Jackson shook his head. "He wants to destroy me, Clair. Just like I want to destroy him. I know he would.. I know he would.."

He choked, rising from the couch. Outside the window, the sun had set, a pale orange glow along the horizon the only remaining trace.

It wasn't the first time she'd witnessed the transformation, but she still hadn't gotten used to it. Jackson seemed to fill with a burning light that spread outward, almost impossible to look at. His eyes and hair turned to flames, in texture and shape, generating no heat. His clothes and skin took on negative hues; it hurt to look at him. Then, the same way it had come, the burning wave was gone, peeling off of the new form like reflected light in a mirror, and there stood Holt instead of Jackson.

"Whew," he said, rolling his neck. "That boy is so tense! Hey, babe. What's shakin'?"

Clair raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Did you murder Gary?"

"Gary who?" He turned to the stereo, clicking it on, looking over the controls. He plugged in his iCoffin, cranking the speakers, and stepped back. "Oh yeah. This is more like it."

"Gary, from New Salem High." Claire turned the volume down a bit. "My parents are out at dinner, but we do have neighbors, thanks. Did you kill Gary?"

He paused in mid-strum, playing air guitar. "Nah, not this dude. I might get in a fight now and then.. I am a little hot-headed at times.. but murder? Not my style."

"Jackson said there was blood," she said, as he continued to dance. "In the journal?"

Holt laughed. "Nah, that was chocolate! I had a gig at this fancy party and there was a chocolate fountain. Things got a little crazy. Fun times. Come on, Clair, let's dance."

"Chocolate," she said, nodding. "You wouldn't lie to me, would you, Holt?"

"Listen. Are you going to try to tell me Jackson's not a paranoid little twerp? If I've said it once I've said it a thousand times: I'm a lover, not a fighter. It was chocolate, it wasn't blood, and if I'm not mistaken, it wasn't even on the right night. Check for yourself. Have him do some science on it, that'll prove me right. Now quit worrying and get out on the floor."

Clair couldn't resist grinning at him, her arms folded across her chest. "You're real bossy, you know that? It's very unattractive."

"Yeah, but my face makes up for it, right?"

She snorted, rolling her eyes. A familiar trill made her pull her phone from her pocket. On the screen was Jackson's number.

Holt smirked at her. "Is it my Mom?"

"None other. I'll take it in the other room." She paused, narrowing her eyes at him. "Don't even say it."

"What?!" His feigned innocence was ruined by the wicked smile on his face. She could practically hear the unspoken joke: _That's what she said!_

She closed the kitchen door behind herself, putting the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

"Hello, Clair, dear. This is Jackson's mother. Is he there?"

Clair turned her back to the door, drowning out the loud pop music with her own body. "Yes, but he's.. he's asleep, Mrs Jekyll."

"Oh." There was a brief, slightly-too-long pause. "Do you mean, Holt's there?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Clair cringed, hearing Mrs Jekyll suck in a sharp breath.

"Do you want me to send him home?" she said, surprising herself with the urgency in her own voice.

"No, no. That's all right. I just.. I wanted to call, you know, because he's been.. troubled.. by the problems at your school, and.. Well, Clair, I know you're a good friend of his, and I just wanted you to know how delicate he is right now."

Clair gaped, struggling to find words, while her face warmed. "Um."

"He's always been delicate. You know, he wasn't breathing when he was born? I was in labor for twenty-six hours, only to be told that my baby was as good as dead."

In the next room, the music got even louder. Clair pressed herself against the door, wishing she was rude enough to hang up before this got any more torturous.

"He was bright blue," Mrs Jekyll said, to cover the deathly silence. "Bright blue, with this shock of hair, the color of his father's. They never thought he'd make it. Or, if he did, that he'd be a vegetable. They told me to let him go.. but I already loved him too much to do that."

Clair cleared her throat with as much gentleness as she could muster. "Mrs Jekyll, I hope this doesn't sound rude, but.. have you been drinking?"

"Just a little sherry, dear. I'm fine. This murder business, you know, it's got us all up in arms. We used to live in New Salem. It was a few years ago, you probably wouldn't have known him then. He was still finishing sixth grade. The people there were so nice, so thoughtful - block parties every weekend in the summer, everyone dressed to the nines. And then.. Holt."

Silence stretched on between them. Mrs Jekyll gave a tremulous sigh.

"He's every bit as reckless as Jackson is cautious, dear. If it turns out he did it.. well, I can't say I'd be surprised. You know I'd still love him though."

"Yeah," Clair said, "me too. Don't worry, Mrs Jekyll. We're all gonna be just fine. I promise."

"OK. I'm sorry to chew your ear off like this. I hope you don't think I'm a loon."

"Not at all. I'm taking good care of him, Mrs Jekyll."

"Oh, thank you, dear. Well, goodnight."

"Goodnight." Clair waited until she hung up, then returned the phone to her pocket, sighing.

"So?" said Holt, moonwalking back towards her as she returned to the living room. "What's your future mother-in-law have to say?"

"Checking up on her little boy, that's all." Clair watched him for a long moment, then stepped in with him, slipping her hand into his.

Holt grinned, cocking an eyebrow. "What's up, ghoul?"

"Less talk. More dancing."

Holt nodded, reaching back, and spun the volume up until the floor vibrated beneath her toes.


	14. Chapter 14

"Dude, behind you! Behind you!"

A chorus of stricken and amazed shouts went up around him as Deuce threw the controller down, cursing.

"He was right behind you! How did you not see it?"

"You've got to stay cool under pressure," Gil advised, turning another page.

Deuce raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh, were you watching? I thought you were busy reading Clawdeen's girly magazines."

Gil frowned, lowering the magazine into his lap. "Excuse me if my girlfriend actually wants us to have common interests. I'm sure you don't know what that's like."

"Sure he knows what that's like," Heath said, smirking. "Deuce likes making money; Cleo likes spending it. The question is, does she like the D?"

"Guys, guys. Chill." Clawd returned Slo Mo's phone. "So I ordered the pizza. It'll be here in about half an hour. What did I miss?"

Deuce stood as Heath scrambled backwards on the bed, laughing. Beside him, Gil chuckled, his blue face tinting purple, and struggled to focus on his magazine.

"Whoa." Clawd picked up the controller, stifling a laugh. "Hey, why don't I show you guys how to do this right?"

"Sure, just a minute. Gotta edify our friend here." Deuce put a hand to his glasses, and Heath, still laughing, stood on the bed, fighting for balance, flaming up.

"Bring it, snake-boy. I'm plenty edified. Whatever that means."

"You better not burn the ceiling again," Clawd warned, settling himself on the floor. "Mom's talking about installing a sprinkler system just for my room."

Slo Mo, still putting his phone back into his pocket, watched them argue, laughing to himself.

"Hey!" There was a sharp knock at the door. Howleen pushed it open, glaring at Slo Mo, whose chair blocked it from opening all the way. "Can you guys keep it down? We're practicing our choreography for the talent show, you know, and I can't even hear the music." She scanned the room with a critical eye, adjusting her hair with one hand. "Did you invite Romulus?"

"He's got a game tonight." Clawd smirked at her, working buttons on the controller, swerving to one side as he dodged oncoming traffic in the game. "I can deliver any love letters you've got written though."

"Shut up." She hesitated, watching Heath and Deuce mock-punch one another, and shook her head.

"You bet she likes the D," Deuce said, punching Heath in the side as Heath attempted to kick him in the stomach, still laughing. "She loves it. Man, she begs for it."

"Boys are so weird. Twyla, did you put those leggings on?"

"I don't think this is really my style."

Heath coughed as Deuce landed a shot to the kidneys, curling over himself, but he was still laughing, flames extinguished. "Yeah.. but I bet she begs for the money first."

"Are you calling Cleo a whore?"

Howleen gave Clawd a pitying glance and shut the door. "That's your mess, bro."

Gil readjusted himself on the bed to avoid Heath, who was crawling away from Deuce. "You haven't told her the talent show's cancelled?"

Clawd shook his head, staring at the screen. "She's been practicing for like a month. It'd break her heart, and then we would never hear the end of her whining."

"Truce," Heath said, panting. "Truce."

"No way, man. You owe me an apology. You owe her one, too."

"Oh, no. Don't make me talk to her."

Deuce grabbed the back of Heath's shirt, pulling him up against the wall. "You're not just going to talk to her. You're gonna grovel. That woman is a queen, you hear me?"

Heath gave Deuce a shove, annoyed. "All right, cool your jets, Scaly. My bad."

"Deuce, quit humping Heath and be my wingman." Clawd tossed the second controller in his direction, where it landed on the bed. Deuce picked it up, seating himself now in front of Heath, who was busy re-adjusting his shirt and hair.

There was another knock at the door, harder this time. Clawd groaned. "What?"

"There's a pizza guy here. What'd you get me?"

He dropped the controller, and Deuce hit pause as the door opened. Clawdeen stared at her brother's friends, then at him, one eyebrow raised. "Well?"

"Meat Lover's," Heath called. "With extra sausage."

Clawdeen nodded, glancing back at him. "Just what I like."

Gil gave Heath's leg a kick, frowning. "What is with you tonight?" he said, as Clawd followed his sister out and down the hall. "You'd better cool it down a few notches."

"Yeah, this is, like, worse than the usual Heath," Deuce agreed, browsing the colognes on Clawd's dresser. "Like, epic levels of annoying, dude."

Heath shrugged, shaking his head. "Give me a break, guys."

"No. You haven't stopped talking about dick since you got here." Gil grinned, blushing purple again. "Maybe you should be reading this, and not me. There's a really good article on how to keep your boyfriend 'interested', if you get my drift."

Deuce laughed as Heath started to sulk. "Who is it? Is it Manny?"

"Shut up." Heath pulled up his knees, looking away.

Gil watched him for a minute, then, glancing at Deuce, returned to his magazine.

"Hey, I don't care. Whatever rocks your socks, man." Deuce turned to look out the door. "I'm, uh, gonna go see what's keeping Clawd. I should throw in on the tip anyhow."

After he'd left, Gil folded the magazine into his lap, leaning towards Heath. "Is it because Abbey's out?"

Heath's face scrunched into a sour expression. He buried his chin into his arms and refused to meet Gil's gaze.

"I heard she'll be back soon. That's what Frankie's saying, anyhow."

Gil watched Heath sigh, relaxing a bit, and unfold himself, legs stretching. "What happened? I was in detention at lunch period, OK, and then.."

Gil shook his head. "Nothing big. She got sick in the creepateria."

Heath scowled. "Sick like what? Like, puking, sick, or what? I heard they had to rush her out."

"I wasn't there, OK? I was getting in some extra laps at the pool. But I heard she fainted, and they couldn't get her to wake up. Frankie said it was like she had a fever."

Heath arched an eyebrow. "Drama. She's the only thing standing between me and a solid F in Home Ick."

Gil nodded, half-grinning. "She's all right. She should be back next week."

"Great. Just in time for the normie invasion."

Gil managed a nervous half-laugh. "The what? You don't really think.."

The door banged open. Slo Mo grunted as it bounced off his knee. Clawd and Deuce pushed through the doorway, talking loudly, as Clawdeen swiped another slice from under the lid of the pizza box and ran back to her room.

"You got pizza?" Howleen said, her door swinging open. "No fair!"

"Mine," Clawd said, and kicked his own door shut before she could make it across the hall.

Gil gave Heath's leg a nudge with one foot. "It'll be OK," he said, his voice soft, and Heath nodded, giving Gil a grateful smile.

Clawd froze in the act of setting the pizza atop his TV, ears pricking up, and called out, "Yeah, OK, Mom. Just a sec." He glanced at the guys, frowning. "Did any of you invite somebody?"

"No," Deuce said, watching his friends exchange looks of confusion and shake their heads, shrugging.

"I'll be right back. Save me a slice. Heath - if I come back and the pizza is gone, you're buying the next one."

Heath sighed, stacking three slices atop one another before returning to the edge of Clawd's bed. "It's not my fault I need so much fuel, man."

"It is when you take the last slice," Deuce said, grinning.

"How come Slo Mo never catches any guff? He's got his own damn pizza. That's not fair!"

"He knows when to keep his mouth shut. And that pizza's got brains on it."

Slo Mo grinned, mouth full of cheese and sauce, extending the box to Heath, who recoiled.

Gil laughed, sliding off the bed, and tossed the magazine aside. "He remembered no anchovies, right?"

"Go on," said Deuce. "You could use some of that, Heath."

"No thanks, Sloman. You can have it."

There was a sudden ruckus out in the hall. Clawd came in, trailed by a short, hoodie-clad boy with bright, intense eyes, and the worst thing to ever happen to an all-boys hang-out.

"Toralei," said Gil, straightening slowly, a frown forming on his serene face.

"What in Zeus' name are you doing here?"

She prowled into the room, climbing up onto the bed to sit beside Heath, who flared up despite himself.

"Me and my ghouls were just out prowling the campus, and we thought we'd stop by, see what you guys are up to." Her eyes widened as she caught sight of the TV. "Is that 'Grand Guignol 5'? I love those games! Can I have a turn?"

Clawd and Deuce exchanged a glance. "Actually, uh, this is kind of a private party..."

Purrsephone and Meowlody slid into the room, closing the door behind themselves. Slo Mo groaned, looking to Clawd for guidance. Toralei crawled off the bed, pressing up close to Clawd, her tail lashing. "Oh, come on. Be a good doggie. You wouldn't put three pussycats out when there's a killer around, would you?"

Gil shook his head, returning to his magazine with a slice of pizza in one hand. "This is like a bad horror movie."

"Yeah, and I'm pretty sure one of us will die first," Heath said, gesturing between the two of them.

Clawd stepped back, scratching the back of his neck. "I guess you can fang out for a while. But, uh, my Mom wouldn't like us having girls in here after ten, so..."

Toralei laughed, indulgent and mocking all at once. "Oh, poor baby. Your Mom? Wow." She picked up a slice of pizza and one of the game controllers, situating herself cross-legged on the floor. "So are you playing through the storyline, or doing multiplayer? I like to just go in on multi and freaking pwn everyone. Yes."

Clawd leaned for the pizza, but Toralei's lackeys slipped around him, taking the last two slices, staring into his face without apology. He glanced at their quiet friend, the boy in the hoodie, who shrugged, smiling.

He held out a hand. "Hey. Sorry to barge in on you like this. Name's Puck."

"Clawd." They shook, and Puck watched the TV screen for a moment. "Not a good night for a walk, Puck."

"Yeah, right?" He shrugged again. "But how often do you get to cruise New Salem with three fine ladies like this?"

Clawd frowned, crossing his arms. "You went into New Salem?"

Puck looked away with a dismissive toss of his head. "They were curious. My mom lives over there. It's not such a bad place. Have you been there?"

Clawd shook his head, embarrassed to admit it, but Puck only grinned.

"Yeah, I hear the kids from Monster High don't like to mess with the normies too much." He shook his head, brushing a wave of dark hair out of his eyes. "Such a shame. So much power in that school. Like that one," he said, motioning back at Heath, who was busy stuffing his face with pizza.

"Heath?" Clawd said, laughing. He watched his friend for a moment, thoughtful. "Well, if he had more control, maybe."

"And you." Puck paused, stepping back. "I'm sorry, I don't want to make you uncomfortable. Werewolves are some of the world's most ancient and powerful beasts, though, and to see your kind reduced to this.. pseudo-normie masquerade.." He shook his head. "Sad."

Clawd's eyes narrowed. "What?"

"Well, this. Playing video games? Eating pizza? Basketball games on Friday nights?" Puck looked up at him, eyes sharp and brilliant. "Is that what your kind do for fun, Clawd?"

He felt off-balance, uncertain. "Sometimes," he said. "We are half-human, after all."

"Right. So where's that other half right now?" Puck raised an eyebrow, smirking to show he meant no harm. "Sleeping? Sedated?"

Toralei snarled as she watched her game avatar's car crash and burn against the brick wall of a police station. She tossed the controller down, getting to her feet, and twined herself close to Clawd. "I couldn't help but overhear. We're not so different, you and I, are we? Both of us half animal, half.. something else. I wouldn't say half normie. Not like that freak Jackson."

Clawd took her wrists, lowering them to her sides. "You need to stop touching me, Toralei. It's weird. Really. And I am nothing like you."

"Oh?" She smiled, baring fangs, her green eyes glinting. "You should get to know me better. We're very much the same."

"OK," Deuce said, stepping between Toralei and Clawd. "Gee, Clawd, I think it's time for our friends to leave. It's getting so late."

Toralei sneered at him, then transformed this into a sultry pout. "Fine. There's nothing fun for us to do here anyways." She looked the boys up and down. "Pity.. I was hoping we'd find something really wild in the Wolf house."

"Clawd, please, could you just.." Clawdeen stopped, one hand on the doorknob, going pale as she looked from Toralei to Puck to her older brother. "Uh.. what are they doing here?"

There was a long moment of tense silence. Puck smiled. Clawdeen felt sure he was staring at her, not in the leering abstract way that boys did when she looked hot and they were trying to be civil. She froze, very aware of how small her shorts were and how much her belly showed. He stared into her eyes, sharp and clear, unwavering, and she felt invaded by it. Exposed. She drew her arms close across her body. "Look, it's bad enough you insist on bringing Heath and Slo Mo in here. I won't put up with this. He's got to go home."

"We were just leaving. Thanks, Clawd, for letting us drop in for a minute." He shook hands with Clawd, then turned, reaching out for Clawdeen's paw.

"Don't you dare touch me. You touch me, you're leaving in the back of an ambulance, you hear me?" She turned her attention to Clawd, who now looked concerned. "I am serious, Clawd Wolf. Keep this creeper out of my house or I will make your life hell. And, really, Clawd? Girls in your room after nine? Werecats, no less? I'm telling Mom." She gave Puck a last withering glare before gathering herself and flouncing back into her room, slamming the door behind her.

"See you at school, big man," Toralei said in a purr, stroking one paw across Clawd's chest as she passed through the doorway, trailed by Purrsephone and Meowlody.

Puck and Clawd exchanged a glance. "I'm sorry," said the werewolf, half-laughing, embarrassed.

"Hey, no problem. Sisters, right?" Puck shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. "I'll see you at school, Clawd. Enjoy your very normal evening with your friends." His gaze lingered on the TV, the video game console, and the empty pizza boxes for a long moment before he turned away and trudged down the hall.

Clawd closed the door, rolling his eyes.

"Maybe we should just go to sleep before things get really weird," Gil said, half an amused smirk on his face.

"Too late for that, man." Deuce glanced at his phone. "Hang on, there are like a dozen texts on here from Cleo." He sat at the foot of Clawd's bed, staring at his phone.

There was a soft knock at the door. Slo Mo pulled it open, one hand protecting his knee, and gave a curious groan.

"Hey." Twyla waved. Her hands twisted together while she looked around the room. "Who was that guy who just left?"

Clawd scowled. "Just some kid from school."

"Oh." She nodded, still scanning the room. "Do you know his name?"

"Puck. He said his name is Puck. Look him up tomorrow. Goodnight."

She put out a hand, stopping Clawd from closing the door in her face. "Uh.. look, I know this might sound weird, but.. lots of people are having nightmares now because of the murder? So if any of you are having a hard time sleeping.." She jerked a thumb back, gesturing over her shoulder, towards Howleen's room. "I'm right over there. You can just call for me."

Deuce straightened. "Hear that, Heath? Just call and she'll be here!"

Heath offered a long-suffering smile to Twyla.

"I'm sorry," she said, stammering. "I know that sounds super creepy. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything. Well, you know. Um. Goodnight."

Slo Mo closed the door, frowning. "Mmmrrrruuugggh," he said, scowling at Deuce.

"She's just trying to help," Heath said, giving Deuce a look of mild disgust.

"Yeah, but.."

"That's who she is, Deuce." Gil turned another page, yawning. "All right, guys. I'm done. I've got swim practice in the morning. They haven't cancelled that yet."

"Me too." Heath burrowed down into Clawd's bed, punching a pillow into shape beneath his head, pulling the blankets over one shoulder. "Why don't you two lull us to sleep with the sounds of police choppers and exploding cars?"

Deuce grinned, grabbing for the controllers, and tossed one to Clawd. "Can do, man."

As he watched the loading screen, Clawd remembered what Puck had said, and felt a momentary pang of guilt. Then Deuce elbowed him, laughing and joking. _Doesn't matter if I am a werewolf_, Clawd thought, scrolling through the assortment of avatars he had to choose from. _I'd rather have a good time with my friends than anything else._


	15. Chapter 15

She stood on the street corner, staring, then walked towards the pool of pale light beneath the fifth streetlamp.

Kneeling, she touched the sidewalk. An abstract shape oozed over its edge: the stain left behind by his blood.

"Bleeding butterfly," she whispered, tilting her head. "Pine tree. Picket fence. Half a heart." It looked like all these things.

The wind blew her hair into her face as she looked up. Beyond the circle of light, his home loomed, dark and silent. She picked out the tiny lights of electronics in the windows, red, blue, green, blinking, steady. False signs of life in a house of death.

Spectra walked to the payphone, caressing it as she had that fateful night, and it shook, the handset rattling to life in her hand. She practiced the sound of breathing into the mouthpiece as the dial tone went on forever. She fought to focus, pressing the buttons in order, taking her time. Her gloved hand trembled.

Muffled ringing. She could hear it, at this distance, coming from his house. She struggled: breathe, think of the words, make yourself speak this time.

_Click._

Silence, so long and full that for a moment she thought she'd been disconnected.

Then, the voice of a woman worn ragged by her own life: "Hello."

Spectra choked. She closed her eyes tight, the memory of tears stinging her face.

"I don't know who you are, or why you keep calling, but.. please.."

She nodded, knowing how Gary's mother felt, wanting to comfort her, not knowing how.

"If you know who did this, if you yourself did this, please set it straight. Do the right thing."

A long, tremulous silence, as both women fought to find the right thing to say.

Finally Gary's mother said, "You may as well have killed all of us."

"I'm sorry," Spectra said, the words coming out in a breathy rush before she could stop herself or give them thought.

On the other end, Gary's mother gasped, shocked. Spectra could feel her waiting to scream, wanting to, frozen in confusion and fear.

She hung up, and the payphone went still and silent once more.

Spectra sank, lowering her head. She floated to Gary's home, watching his mother sit tense beside the phone in her pink robe, wiping tears from her face. The woman stood, marching upstairs. Spectra followed, darting through the walls of the house, floating upward to the second floor. She watched his bedraggled mother pull herself back into bed beside her husband, cowering beneath the covers, terrified of something she couldn't name.

She drifted through the wall, into the next bedroom. It was the same as the last time she'd seen it. Photographs circling a broad mirror. Three bookshelves, haphazard, well-loved. A heavily carved and defaced desk, stacked notebooks, textbooks on the floor, his laptop, his camera, his favorite shirt hanging from the closet doorknob. She picked it up, wrapped it around her shoulders, hugged it close.

Spectra breathed in the scent and feel of the room. How long before the memory of him ceased, and the room no longer smelled of him or held the echoes of his time here? She knew she was doomed to forget at some point, but when? How much longer would it hurt like this?

She pushed herself through the wall again. Moonlight spilled through a single window facing the street. She could see the spot where he had breathed his last, just feet beyond that lamp, alone in the dark. From up here, the stain looked like nothing so much as the slinky profile of a black cat, one almondine eye glaring blindly upwards. "Bad luck," she said to herself.

Movement startled her, and she turned. In the bed against the wall, his sister fought a nightmare, writhing and whining in her sleep.

Spectra floated closer. The girl - Nicole - couldn't be much older than seven. She had the same color hair, long and twisted on her pillow, slicked with sweat against her forehead.

"No," the girl said, twisting sideways, and Spectra reached down to smooth her hair back. Tiny hands grasped for her, for anything. Drowning in her sleep.

Spectra watched, then, slipping her arms into Gary's favorite shirt, she reached down and into the girl's chest.


	16. Chapter 16

Rochelle stiffened, holding herself back from launching off the edge of the neighboring house.

Inside, she felt herself boiling, melting, a pool of contradictory thoughts and feelings. Lava, burning inside her, begging her to act with swift certainty.

_That is Spectra, yes. She broke into this house. She is stealing property of theirs. And, it appears, she is attempting to murder someone else._

The gargoyle flinched away, cursing herself. _Attempting to murder someone, I mean. Possibly. Maybe she's trying to help. I don't know._

"_Sacre Dieu_," she whispered, staring into the window, frozen with uncertainty.

_If it is the mission of my people to protect, to save mortals from evil spirits, then why do I refuse to move?_


	17. Chapter 17

Her gloved hands slid through the fragile sternum bone. She cupped the girl's heart in her palm. It fluttered like a captured bird, resistant, terrified. She held it, gently, then with firmness.

_Stop. Stop fighting like that. Slow down. Be still._

It struck her as funny, in an absurd way. Hadn't she said that to him at some point? Be still, my beating heart. Now his was. Now hers would be. And Spectra would go on, as she always had, forgetting, moving on, chasing a truth she would never find.

"Shhh," she whispered, as the struggling organ in her hands slowed. She pulled one hand free, swept the straw-colored hair from the girl's brow. "Hush now, beautiful. Rest. You don't need to fight."

Nicole gasped, eyes bursting open, and sat forward as Spectra released her. "He's here!"

"Shhh." She floated forward again, resting at the foot of the girl's bed. "He's gone. It's all right."

The girl panted, fighting to catch her breath, frowning. She looked at her hands, stroked the blanket beneath Spectra's intangible form. She shook.

"Are you there?" she said to the darkness.

"Yes. It's time to rest."

Nicole lay back, closing her eyes, and pulled the blankets up to her chin. "I thought I saw him again.."

"He's gone. Now it's time to rest."

The girl nodded, curling onto her side. "Stay until I'm asleep, will you?"

Spectra grinned, stroking the girl's cheek. "I'll stay as long as you like."


	18. Chapter 18

"They've been there all morning," said Venus, staring at the twin police cruisers parked outside the Monster High courtyard. "They let their engines idle for the first half-hour. What a way to greet the day, huh?"

"What do they want?" Clawdeen asked, and Venus shrugged.

"They haven't said anything. They're just.. waiting." Robecca crossed her arms, irate. "Gives me the willies, it does."

"The doors are still locked," Venus said, watching as Clawdeen peered up the school's crowded front steps. "Rochelle's in, talking with the Headmistress. I'm not sure what's going on, but it's big."

Clawdeen spotted Draculaura's distinctive parasol moving through the gathered students, and hurried towards her, dodging through clusters of people. "Hey, Lala. Do you have any idea what this is about?"

"Me?" Draculaura cast a look at Clawdeen over her shoulder. "I thought someone was getting arrested. Or.." She frowned, slowing her steps. "You know. That whole mess with Holt last year."

"The Trick or Treatment," Frankie said, sweeping up alongside them. She pulled at the stitches on her wrists, tightening them with nervous tugs. "I have a Biteology test today, you guys. How am I supposed to focus?"

"Don't know." Clawdeen glanced up as the double doors swung open.

The Headless Headmistress scanned the crowd, wearing her head for once, then descended the steps with slow dignity. Rochelle followed behind, her expression more grim than usual. Mr Hackington and Mr Rotter held the doors propped open and began to usher students inside.

"Oh," said Draculaura, hands flying to her face in horror. "She looks just awful. Clawd!" She pulled him close as he approached. "Just look at poor Headmistress Bloodgood. Isn't she a wreck? It's so sad."

Frankie sighed, watching Bloodgood move through the crowd closing tightly behind her, approaching the cruisers. "Do you think there might have been another murder?"

Clawdeen shook her head, hitching up her bag. "Let's just get inside. I can't stand around waiting for information out here."

"I'm glad to see you all gathered here. I suppose you've heard the news?"

On her way to the steps, Clawdeen turned, watching Cleo de Nile stride towards their little group, trailed by Ghoulia. "What news?"

Cleo arched an eyebrow at Clawdeen. "Oh, you mean you don't know? It's just the worst."

"Spill it," Clawdeen said, scowling.

"Hey, babe." Deuce stepped around Clawd, hands out, expecting a welcoming embrace.

Cleo's eyes flashed. "Deuce Gorgon, I am not speaking to you."

"What? Why not? What'd I do now?"

Clawdeen growled. "Quit distracting her. News, Cleo? What news?"

"Oh. That." Cleo rolled her eyes with a dismissive wave of one bandaged hand. "I came to tell you all tomorrow is my final day. Father says I have to 'retreat to the safety of the tomb' until this whole thing blows over. And, since it's likely the school is going to be shut down until the so-called murder is solved, there's a small but not insignificant chance I won't be coming back."

One of the cruiser's driver side doors popped open, and Draculaura squeaked in fear, clutching Clawd's arm.

"I know, it must be very upsetting for all of you. Don't worry. I'll keep you updated with my Critter account for as long as I can."

Clawdeen grabbed Cleo's arm, forcing her to turn around. "Not you, you twit. There's something going on down there."

"Unhand me!" Cleo pulled away, sulking, and watched as an officer stepped out of the vehicle, removing his cap.

Deuce moved to her side, reaching for her elbow. "Cleo? Hey, can we talk?"

She heaved an annoyed sigh, not meeting his glance. "This is a bad time. I suppose I can fit you in after first period. Ghoulia - go get my morning chai, will you? Extra sugar. And bring it back hot this time!"  
Ghoulia groaned, slouching off towards the steps, giving Deuce a pitying glance as she went.

"You there!" Mr Hackington's shout carried across the courtyard. "Get in here or you'll be marked late!"

"What's she doing?" Frankie said, squinting towards the cars.

Clawd shrugged. "Just talking. They're just talking."

"Negotiating," Cleo said, eyes narrowing. "Anyone can see they're trying to agree on terms for something."

"Ten seconds," called Mr Hackington.

Frankie turned, shaking her head, and jogged up the steps. "I'll catch up with you guys later, OK?"


	19. Chapter 19

"Don't you think you're getting out of this week's Biteology test just because of all this nonsense with New Salem," Mr Hackington said, swinging his cleaver for emphasis. "I'll give you ten minutes to look over the material. Starting now!"

Frankie bent over her textbook, scowling. Her mind kept wandering back to the twin cruisers parked in front of the school when she arrived this morning, red and blue lights strobing across the school's stone facade, and no matter how hard she tried she couldn't bring herself back to the classroom.

She glanced down the row. Heath, like herself, sat slumped over the text, a look of panic on his face. One row up, Draculaura paged through a fashion magazine badly hidden inside the book, stifling a yawn, and not far from her, Toralei and the twins were busy working on their manicures. A pang of sadness struck her; she remembered discovering Halloween, and how her disaffected friends had brushed it off as unimportant. Was this a repeat of the same situation? Was she doomed to always feel things to the core, unable to cut herself loose from the events surrounding her? How could they ignore it so easily?

The intercom speaker crackled, then sputtered to life. Headmistress Bloodgood's voice, tinted with exhaustion, filled the room. "I apologize for the interruption to your daily studies, but it appears the New Salem Police Department is in dire need of our assistance. Throughout the day students will be requested to come into my office for informal interviews. You will be notified of your turn by Rochelle Goyle or Robecca Steam. Your cooperation is expected and appreciated. Thank you."

Heath cursed, patting out a small fire on the edge of his textbook. He raised his hand. "Mr Hackington? I'm not feeling so good. May I be excused?"

"No! And if you puke on your test papers, Mr Burns, I'll subtract twenty points from your grade."

Heath sank into his seat, discouraged.

"All right, time's up. Close your books." Mr Hackington stepped up to the front row, handing out stacks of stapled papers. Frankie heard Heath's groan from where she sat. The test looked to be at least six pages long. "You'll have one hour to complete the test. There's an extra credit problem on the back, but I don't expect any of you to get there. Remember, your performance on this test counts for one-third of your finishing grade. And there will be no retakes!"

The class door swung open as the tests were still being passed around, and Rochelle stepped in, an apologetic smile on her face. She cleared her throat, approaching Mr Hackington, and spoke softly in his ear, not looking at the students.

Hack stood back, frowning. "Beast. Burns. Clops. Report to the Headmistress' office, right now."

Heath gathered his things, grinning, but Frankie saw how he faltered near Rochelle.

"Time starts now," said Hack, returning to his desk, and she looked down at the paper. She read through the first page, flipped to the second, the third, returned to the front, re-read it. Nothing made sense. None of it could get through the haze of confusion in her head today. Sighing, Frankie picked up her pen and stared down the first question, taking it word by word, struggling to focus, and waited for her own name to be called by one of the Headmistress' messengers.


	20. Chapter 20

Rochelle's long cotton candy ponytail brushed the arm of Heath's jacket as she turned to face them.

"Wait here, _s'il vous plait_," she said, gesturing to a cluster of folding chairs borrowed from the gym, now stationed outside the Headmistress' office. An assortment of students were already waiting, staring at the walls or their phones, bored. "I'm sure they will call you in soon." Rochelle gave them a small smile and disappeared through the doorway, closing the door behind herself quietly.

"Abbey?" Heath said, hurrying to sit beside her. "Where have you been? I mean.. uh.. hey, babe. What's up?"

She raised an eyebrow at him, one corner of her mouth quirking upward for a brief moment. "Am pleased to see you, also, Heath Burns. Am glad to return to school."

"Yeah.. about that. What happened? You got sick?"

She gave a brief, scoffing laugh. "Where do you hear that? Is Spectra, no?"

"Gil said he heard it from Frankie, I think." He leaned toward her, frowning. "Are you saying that's not what happened?"

Abbey straightened, casting a sidelong glance at the other students slouched through the cluster of chairs. She touched the gem at her throat. "This crystal," she said, "for the perpetuating of the bodily coldness - is a gift of my people. Is necessary for survival in the Down Below. Yes? You understand?"

Heath nodded. "Sure, but what's that got to do with - "

"So I am taking the lunch break. Is new boy in line. Short. Big hair, like wolf girl on hot day. Yes? Am choosing the foods for lunch. New boy is being creep to another girl in line. Is making rude statements to her. So I am telling him, no. This, Monster High, we do not speak in such a way. Am trying to help, but he is being angry. And so he take my crystal."

"Wait.. what? He just took it? Like, grabbed it, or what?"

"Is snatching, like this." Abbey swiped one sparkling hand across the hollow of Heath's throat. "Is very fast, you see? Am not noticing. Room gets very hot." She frowned, her expression darkening. "He is returning it to me, in my hand, but I am shamed before my friends, made sick for days after. Is funny to him, I think."

Heath leaned on his elbows, thoughtful. "Short guy, poofy hair, you said? I might know this guy."

The door opened. Rochelle stepped into the hall, trailed by a broad-shouldered young man in a police uniform. He scrutinized the gathered students, referring to a clipboard in his hand, then said, "Bominable?"

"Am here." Abbey stood, and Heath smirked as the officer took several steps back, startled by her height.

"Right." He cleared his throat. "You'll be next. Wait here," he said, directing her to a chair immediately beside the door. "Burns?"

"Yeah." Heath stood, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, trying not to sweat.

The officer smiled - not in a friendly or comforting manner, but almost predatory, the same way Heath had seen Manny smile at Jackson so many times - and held open the door to the Headmistress' office. "This way. I won't keep you long."


	21. Chapter 21

"Heath Burns." The officer settled into the chair opposite the table, opening a manila folder, spreading its contents across the surface. "Is that your real name?"

Heath grinned. "Does it sound fake to you?"

The officer gave him a bland stare.

Heath squinted at the badge on the pocket of his uniform shirt. "Goodfellow," he said. "Now that sounds fake."

"How old are you, Heath?"

"Sixteen next July."

"So.. fifteen?"

"I guess so. Hey, were you one of the guys who found the dead kid? What was that like? I mean, I don't mean to sound insensitive or anything, but that had to be pretty wicked, right?"

Goodfellow stared at him a second time, then folded his hands together atop the table. "Do you know why you're here, Heath?"

"Um.. I'm guessing it's because a kid in New Salem got whacked.." He noted the officer's expression and said, "I mean, uh, he died under mysterious circumstances. So you're trying to find out who might have done it? Wasn't me. I was out on a hot date that night."

"With whom?"

"Uh." Heath rolled his neck, looking away. "Well, she's not a student here."

The officer picked up a pen, pulling a steno pad out from under the folder. "Is she a student at New Salem High?"

"No. No. She's.. uh, look, no, I made it up. I wasn't on a date, OK? But if anybody asks, can you back me up on that? I kinda told people.."

"What were you doing on Sunday night, Mr Burns? For real, this time."

Heath sat back in the chair, propping his feet against the table. "At home, you know, watching TV, playing some video games. No big deal."

Goodfellow nodded, making a note on his steno pad. "And about how long were you doing that for?"

He shrugged, scrunching up his face, trying to remember. "About five to eleven."

"What did you watch?"

" 'Scuse me?"

Goodfellow looked up at him. "You said you watched TV. What did you watch?"

"Oh. Uh.. you know, there was this ball game. I watched that."

The officer tapped the pen's end against his notepad. "Do you know what the penalty is for lying to the police?"

Heath shook his head. "Should I?"

"I think we both know there was no 'ball game' on TV Sunday night. Just tell me what you watched."

"Right." Heath swallowed, looking down. "Sorry. Uh.. I watched.. there was this.."

"I'm sorry, I can't hear you. Could you speak up, please?"

"Project Runway. OK? I watched Project Runway. It was a re-run. I have friends who are really into fashion, all right?"

Officer Goodfellow nodded, managing not to fully smirk as Heath sulked, and jotted it down. "And after that?"

"Played 'Angry Ghouls' for a while. A few hours or something."

"Until about eleven?"

"Yep. Look, is that all you wanted to know? I'm potentially failing Biteology right now, and I'd really like to at least fail with honest effort."

Officer Goodfellow looked up at him, then shuffled some papers from the manila folder. "I'm noticing a lot of fire-related issues in your file."

"Wow, is that my school record? It's pretty big."

"Can you explain why that happens?"

Heath frowned. "The fire thing? It's just a natural reaction. Sometimes it gets a little out of hand, though."

"Do you consider yourself to be a monster, Mr Burns?"

He half-laughed, settling back in his chair, feet on the floor. "Yeah. Any reason I shouldn't?"

"And what kind of monster are you?"

Heath rubbed the back of his neck, weirdly discomforted. "Fire elemental."

Goodfellow gave him a forced, cheerless smile. "You'll have to excuse me. I'm not familiar with, uh.. your people."

"Hey, that's.. Whatever. It's cool."

"If I were to tell you the boy found in New Salem had suffered burns to most of his body before his death, would you want to change any of the details of your story about Sunday night?"

Heath frowned. Officer Goodfellow stared at him, his face neutral, hands folded, but there was something threatening about it, something unkind. "Is that true?"

The officer shrugged. The sliver of a smile crept onto his face. "Does it matter?"

A cold sweat beaded on his forehead. "I was at home Sunday night, all night. I didn't set anything on fire. I didn't go into New Salem. All right?"

Officer Goodfellow shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "I believe you, Heath, but.. you have a history of lying, don't you? And a history of causing fires? And, if I'm not mistaken, you have been to New Salem, haven't you?"

"Well.. it was Halloween, like, last year, maybe the year before. I didn't do anything wrong."

"Right. Plenty of men in jail insist they're innocent." He stood, gathering Heath's file and its papers together. "If you could leave contact information, that would be great. We may have more questions for you in the near future. I'd like to talk with your parents, as well, so leave a phone number and an address."

Heath nodded, frowning.

"The girl you were speaking to.. was she also with you in New Salem on Halloween?"

"Who, Abbey? Uh.. no. No, it was.. just me.. and some of the guys. We went to a party. I don't know what Abbey did."

Officer Goodfellow paused, one hand on the doorknob. "For someone who's so terrible at lying, it's amazing you continue to do it."

"Yeah.. I get that a lot." He didn't back down from the officer's stare, but he could feel the heat gathering around his collar, sweat dripping along his back.

Goodfellow turned the doorknob and stepped back, allowing Heath to leave.

"Send in your friend, if you don't mind. And thanks, Heath." This time, his smile was not even pretending to be friendly; it made Heath think of a bear trap, all shiny, sharp, and full of ugly purpose. "You've been a big help."


	22. Chapter 22

Deuce shoved his books and papers into his bag just as class ended, pushing through the crowd of students already leaving the classroom ahead of him. If he was quick, he could get to Cleo's locker before her, and then she couldn't possibly avoid him any longer.

He dodged a cluster of zombies, skirted a growing group of ghouls in the vampire sector around Gorey Fangtell's locker, and slipped into the stream of students leaving Kindergrubber's classroom, bumping shoulders with Frankie.

"Hey, Deuce," she said, grinning.

"Frankie," he said with a nod. He lifted his chin, trying to see over and around the other students, but there were too many. "You seen Cleo?"

"Not since this morning. I think she might have gotten called down for those interviews." She hitched up her bag, waving. "Gotta go. See you later!"

"Right, bye." Deuce stepped out of the flow of students, closer to the lockers, and scanned the hall for Cleo's distinctive gold-and-teal color combination. Instead, he spotted Heath, struggling to make his way up the hall against traffic. Deuce snagged his sleeve, jerking him back against the lockers at his side.

"Hey," Heath said, frowning, and pulled his sleeve out of Deuce's grip. "What's up?"

"You and me have some unfinished business, Burns." He gave Heath a gentle push, and they moved further down the hall, towards Cleo's locker.

Heath groaned, pulling away as he realized where they were going. "Come on, man, I was joking! You know that!"

"It's about time you learned what's funny and what's not."

"Don't make me talk to her, Deuce. Please. She hates me."

Deuce smirked, raising an eyebrow. "You say that like she's the only one."

"Hey!"

Deuce glanced around the corner, into the T-intersection with the science hall, and spotted Ghoulia slouching in their direction. Cleo couldn't be far behind. He turned to Heath, slicking back his snakes. "How do I look?"

Heath gave him a nervous grin.

"Come on, Burns, give me an answer. Do I have stuff on my face? How's my shirt?"

Heath sighed, looking away, and ran a hand through his hair. "Your collar's crooked. And you need to shave, but it's no big deal. Looks okay on you."

"All right. Thanks, man. Ghoulia!" he said, as the zombie approached, and adjusted his collar. "How's your day going?"

Ghoulia crossed her arms, her bag falling into the crook of one scrawny elbow. "Uuuggghhh."

"What? No, I'm interested, really! We're buds, right?"

She cocked her head, exchanging a wry grin with Heath. She lifted the combination lock on Cleo's locker and began to enter the combination. "Aaaghh ugh," she said, reaching into the locker to withdraw an armload of textbooks, and swung her head in the direction of the hall beside them.

"Ghoulia! Did you remember to cancel my hairdressing appointment this afternoon? Daddy says I have to go straight ho-" Cleo froze, looking Deuce up and down, then turned her attention back to her iCoffin. "I hope you didn't forget. I'm relying on you, Ghoulia."

The zombie ghoul rolled her eyes, nodding, and Cleo sighed in relief. She stepped around Heath, digging through her locker. As an afterthought, without looking at him, she said, "Deuce?"

"Hey. Uh.. I brought Heath by. He's got something to say to you."

Heath shrank back as Deuce took hold of his collar and Cleo turned, staring at him. "Well? Hurry it up. I can't be late."

Deuce gave Heath a shake. "Um. Hey, I just wanted to say, uh.. you're looking very nice today, Cleo."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Of course. Is that all?"

"And, uh.. I may have.. said something.. which Deuce interpreted as-"

"Heath called you a whore while we were fanging out last night," Deuce said, and Cleo's demeanor transformed: chin raised, back stiff, eyes burning.

Heath shrank back further. His collar slipped up over the back of his head, ruffling his hair. "Come on, man, I didn't -"

"You did. Now apologize."

Heath stammered, struggling in Deuce's grip. "Listen, Cleo -"

"Oh, no." Cleo shook her head, arms crossed. "Not like that. Kneel."

He gave a half-laugh, disbelieving. "What?"

"You heard her." Deuce released his hold on Heath's jacket, stepping aside. "I told you, dude, the lady's a queen."

"Either you kneel, or I'll have Deuce make you," Cleo said.

Heath looked from one to the other. The crowd in the halls had thinned to only a handful of students; he thought of running, for a moment. Then, glancing around to be sure no one saw, he got to his knees. "I'm really sorry, OK?"

"Oh my Ra," Cleo said, swelling with fury. "Are you making eye contact?! Deuce!"

Deuce's hand went to the side of his glasses, and Heath flinched, protecting his face. "I don't wanna be a statue!"

"Then spit it out, plebe. My time is precious."

He spoke fast, keeping his eyes averted. "I'm sorry, OK? I was only joking around. It won't happen again. I was being stupid."

Cleo smiled. A long, tense moment passed before she said, "That's more like it."

Heath looked from Deuce to Cleo, to Ghoulia, who leaned against the locker as if nothing unusual was happening. "Can I get up now?"

Deuce reached down, tugging him to his feet by the shoulder of his jacket, and said, "Get out of here."

"Right. Thanks." Confused, still flushed with embarrassment, Heath stumbled down the hall towards his next class.

Cleo looked sidelong at Deuce. "Don't think a peace offering like that is going to get you back in my good graces, Gorgon. You'll have to try harder."

He groaned, rubbing one hand over his face. "Come on, Cleo. What did I do? Did I forget some kind of anniversary again?"

"What did you do?" She turned, pulling books from her locker, and slammed the door. "Do you have any idea what I have been through these past few days? Accosted by normies! Ruthlessly interrogated for hours! Accused and imposed upon! Not to mention Daddy's demands and their disastrous effect on my social life!" She shoved the books at Ghoulia, who staggered back beneath them, adjusting her glasses with one hand. "I am practically at death's door, Deuce, and where are you? 'Fanging out' with your bloodies? Allowing bottom-rung scum like that to make slanderous comments about my character? Really!"

Deuce smiled. He snaked one arm around her waist, leaning in close, and she pushed him away, sneering. He laughed, stepping closer as she recoiled. "What do you want me to do, babe? You want me to bring someone else around for you to bully? How about I take you out, huh? Just tell me. Anything. It's yours."

She hesitated. "Well," she said, after a moment's thought. "I suppose I could allow you to take me out. It's been a while since you spent any money.. I mean, time.. with me."

"How about tonight?"

She shook her head. "Won't your mom throw a fit?"

Deuce laughed. "Oh, she's having a major hissy fit over New Salem." He stepped close, slinking his arms around Cleo's waist. "But I'm not letting that stop me."

She smirked, leaning into him, then stepped away. "Tonight won't work. Daddy says I have to be home right away after school. He's sending a carriage for me, and I'm busy all day today getting my affairs in order, since I won't be coming back."

"Cleo.. Are you sure? Is that set in stone?"

She nodded, avoiding his gaze. "Daddy says it's a problem among the commoners, that if they can't find a scapegoat among themselves they'll look at the aristocrats and find a way to blame them. History's on his side, Deuce. But.. I think I can make some time for you tomorrow. Ghoulia?"

The zombie straightened, snapping back to awareness.

"Clear my schedule for tomorrow afternoon." She slipped one hand into Deuce's. "Deuce and I will be busy from lunch period until.. say.. two. All right?"

Deuce shook his head, but he was smiling. "It's not enough time."

She nodded. "Eternity wouldn't be. I know. You're such a romantic."

"Me?" He reached for her hands, but she pulled away, already done with the moment.

"I have to get to Mad Science. Ghoulia still hasn't briefed me on the answers for today's quiz."

Ghoulia frowned, groaning.

"I told you, Nefera stole them! I put your notes in the pocket of that fabulous new skirt I bought last week at the maul, and that thief snuck in and took it. It doesn't even fit her. How do you expect me to memorize something I don't even have?" She sighed up at Deuce, stroking his vest, pouting. "Oh, Deuce, I can't wait until all this ugly business is over and done with, and everything can go back to the way it was."

He nodded, putting one hand over hers. "Yeah.. I'm not sure it will."

She cocked an eyebrow at him, eyes narrowing, then dismissed it with a sigh. "Well. We can discuss it tomorrow. I have to go. Kisses."

"Right," he said, watching her lead Ghoulia down the empty hall towards Hackington's classroom, trying not to imagine how his day would go without her.


	23. Chapter 23

"I'm just glad I don't have to go in until tomorrow. They're going by alphabetical order, right? If we get called at the same time, will you sit with me?"

"Sure, love." Scarah swung her locker shut, absently spinning the combo lock.

"Aw, thanks, Scarah. I'm just so nervous about the whole thing." Hoodude shuddered, hugging his books against his chest. "You don't really think it could be someone here at the school, could it?"

She shook her head. "I really wouldn't know. I'm not the type to go around poking into places where I'm not wanted." She laughed. "Or sneaking up on people!"

"Drat." Invisi Billy faded in alongside them as they walked down the hall, hands jammed in the pockets of his hoodie. "One of these days I'll surprise you."

"Aye, that'll be the day." She turned, waving to Hoodude as they separated at the door to Kindergrubber's. "I'll catch up with you at lunch, OK?"

"See you then!"

She elbowed Billy, chuckling. "Of all the monsters I know, you've got to be among the most creepy."

"I'll take that as a compliment, thanks." He snatched up her hand, giving it a quick kiss. "I've got to go. If I don't show up for my appointment with D'eath, he'll mark me absent again."

"Right. See you later."

"Maybe," he said with a wink, and vanished, leaving her shaking her head.

She'd just rounded the corner, headed to Clawculus, when she felt a sudden, unavoidable presence in her mind. The feeling wasn't unfamiliar - usually her own mother would get her attention with a telepathic 'poke' rather than audible noise - but, being unexpected, she startled, searching the halls for its source.

_Hello?_ she said, broadcasting wide, and felt the presence recoil slightly.

Scarah backed against the wall outside her Clawculus class, watching students drift by, allowing their chatter to wash over her. It was nearby, whoever it was, and it was strong. Similar to her mother in more than method.

Fear was making her lose focus. She looked at the passing students, forcing herself to acknowledge them. Clawdeen Wolf, laughing with her friends. Eyera, slouching, bloodshot. A pair of chatty werecats. It couldn't be any of them.. and now, she noticed, some of them were looking back, disturbed by the intensity on her face.

Scarah slipped into the doorway of the classroom, still watching as students passed, gauging the distance between herself and the mysterious force bearing down on her telepathic senses. Then, as soon as it had arrived, it became sharper, more aware. She peered out the door. Across the hall, a normie in uniform - most likely the police officer from New Salem - was busy talking with a squat goblin-like student. He paused from scribbling notes on his clipboard and turned. Their eyes met, and she saw beneath the unsmiling exterior.

He only stared for a moment before turning back to his target, but in that moment Scarah felt a fear that turned her knees weak and left her breathless in the doorway.

She pulled back once more, gathering herself. Reaching into her bag, she removed her phone, intent on calling her mother, but then realized that she could still be read easily by that power across the hall.

Scarah got to her feet, took a few deep breaths, and thought only of Clawculus, making her way to her seat.


	24. Chapter 24

"Headmistress?" Scarah said, peering into the vacant office.

She heard the scrape of stone on stone as Rochelle climbed through the open window behind the Headmistress' desk. "Miss Screams? It is barely sunrise. Madame has not come in yet. Would you care to wait for her here?" She turned to latch the window, shaking droplets of rain from her wings.

"I suppose that would be all right," Scarah said, "but, ah.. will the.. officer.. from New Salem be coming in first?"

Rochelle eyed her, frowning. "It's unlikely. Are you all right?"

Scarah heaved a sigh, sinking into one of the upholstered chairs before the desk. "I am not, Rochelle, but I am not sure I could say why."

The gargoyle hesitated a moment. "There must be a reason. I will listen, _cher_."

The two of them turned at a sudden clatter in the hall. Rochelle grinned at the sound of a high-pitched whinny.

"That'll be the Headmistress," Scarah said, and Rochelle nodded.

Nightmare slowed, prancing, just outside the office door, in a cloud of smoke and flame. The Headmistress dismounted, tucking her head into the crook of her elbow, and strode into the room. "Good morning, ghouls. I trust it was a quiet evening?"

"_Oui, madame_. Our night classes went as scheduled, and it has been very quiet this morning, so far."

"Well." She slid into her chair, placing her head atop the desk, and gave the two of them a mild smile. "So far, so good. Miss Screams, you're here quite early, aren't you? Your first class is at seven a.m., correct?"

"Yes, ma'am, but I.. I needed to speak to you."

The Headmistress' body leaned back, fishing an apple out of the desk's bottom drawer. Nightmare snorted, strolling into the office, and accepted it from her hand. "Would it be safe to assume this is about the incident in New Salem? It seems that's all anyone wants to talk about anymore."

"Yes, ma'am. Or, at least, it's related to that."

"Rochelle," said the Headmistress, and Rochelle nodded, hurrying to close the office door. To Scarah, Bloodgood said, "Is it all right if Rochelle is here with us?"

"It's fine, ma'am."

The Headmistress folded her hands. "Well, whenever you're ready."

"I don't mean to cast aspersions on anyone, ma'am.."

"Of course not. I understand."

".. But I have a very strong feeling about the officer gentleman from New Salem."

Bloodgood frowned, her eyes narrowing. "How do you mean?"

Scarah faltered a moment, her hands clasping and unclasping in her lap. "I don't believe he is who he appears to be. I can't explain it so you'd understand, but he has.. some.. unusual abilities for a normie. My mother may have known him from the auld sod, ma'am. She seemed to recognize him from my description."

"Scarah," the Headmistress said, still frowning, but the girl tossed her hair, going on.

"I know it sounds crazy. But he and my mother moved in the same circles, long ago. He's more ancient than she is. He's not to be trusted!"

There was a sharp knock at the door. Rochelle peered out, then swung the door open. A fresh-faced young man with close-cropped blonde hair stood there, nervous, in the uniform of a New Salem police officer.

The Headmistress cleared her throat, rising. "Rochelle, Scarah, this is Officer Wellborn from the New Salem Police Department. He'll be conducting our final interviews today due to Officer Goodfellow's absence. Officer Wellborn, would you like some coffee?"

He had paled considerably after she rose from her seat, and now he seemed thoroughly unsettled, staring from Scarah's pure white eyes to Rochelle's granite skin. "Uh, sure. Yes. That would be great. Thank you."

"Follow me, _monsieur_." Rochelle gave the Headmistress a brief bow, closing the door behind herself as she led the Officer down to the creature's lounge.

Bloodgood resumed her seat, watching Scarah.

"Not that one, ma'am. The other."

"I think your mother may be confusing Officer Goodfellow with someone else. After all, she hasn't met him, Scarah."

"No.. that's true.. but yesterday, Headmistress.. I felt it. I knew it was him."

Bloodgood sighed, her lips pursed. "We have many students whose abilities are still developing or being discovered. Is it impossible that you could have been the recipient of a telepathic burst from one of those students?"

Scarah shook her head, shoulders drooping. "I suppose it's possible, ma'am, but -"

"Goodfellow is only a normie."

"How can you be so sure?"

The Headmistress frowned. "Well, we did check his credentials before allowing him into the school, Scarah. You know we wouldn't allow anyone inside Monster High if we didn't feel they were absolutely trustworthy."

Again Scarah shook her head. "I'm sorry, Headmistress, but.. you're lying to me. And I know you're wrong, besides. I saw through him. I saw who and what he is. He should not be allowed on school grounds again. The damage may have already been done."

"Exactly who does your mother believe him to be?"

"She won't say." Scarah looked up, her white eyes wide. "Don't you see? She's too wary to call him by his true name. She thought keeping it from me would protect me.. but I saw inside him already. I know. I only hope he didn't recognize me at the same time."

Bloodgood chewed her lower lip, intrigued now and concerned. "Tell me what you saw."

Scarah shook her head, withdrawing, and rose from her chair. "I'm sorry, Headmistress, but I can't. I don't have words for it, and even if I did, just the thought of it gives me the right shivers. I will talk to this officer, if you insist, but please don't allow Officer Goodfellow to return. Or you will be placing the entire school at risk." She paled, going light green, and stammered an apology before hurrying out of the office.


	25. Chapter 25

"Keep 'em closed," Operetta said, leading Cleo over the edge of the gondola. "No peeking!"

"Ugh. Why would I want to? No offense, Operetta, but the rats down here have terrible interior decor skills."

Operetta smirked, shaking her head, one arm looped through Cleo's. "I'll just write that off to you bein' excited. We're goin' around a corner here, darlin', so watch your feet."

Cleo put out her free hand for balance, touching the catacomb walls, and recoiled with a shriek. "What did I just touch?! Never mind - I don't want to know! Deuce Gorgon, this had better be worth it!"

"Oh, sugar." Operetta stopped and nudged her side. "You can open your eyes now."

"Thank Ra," Cleo said, sighing with exasperation.

They stood at the edge of a narrow tunnel overlooking a cavern, created by centuries of flowing water and silt. Slender streams wound down the rock face, gathering in a small pool at the cavern's edge. A layer of phosphorescent moss coated the lower half of the bowl-shaped room, glowing pale green. Overhead, dew-speckled spider's webs trembled in a gentle breeze off the river behind them.

Deuce rose from his seat, nervous, and gave Cleo a smile. In the center of the room, he had prepared a small wrought-iron table and two chairs, a decanter of amber-colored iced tea, and an assortment of covered dishes in silver serving trays, all of it lit by a six-flame candlelabra.

"Oh my Ra," Cleo said, and Operetta chuckled to herself.

"I'll just be goin' now. You two enjoy yourselves." She waved to Deuce, who gave her an appreciative nod, and walked back to the river's edge.

"Deuce.. how did you.. I mean, when.."

"I spent last night cooking," he said, walking up to meet her along the narrow, sloping walkway. He took her hand. "We'll start with the tabbouleh. The main dish is chicken shawarma with tzatziki sauce. There are roasted plums in yogurt, all of it fresh. Oh, and I made -"

Cleo turned, fixing him with an almost scornful smirk. "This is supposed to be a surprise, right? So stop telling me the details, and let me explore a little."

"Right. Sorry." He followed her down into the center of the room, watching as she took it all in, smiling to himself.

"This is Egyptian cloth," she said, folding the tablecloth between her fingers. "How did you get this?"

"Gil ordered it online for me."

"Deuce.. it's expensive."

"Yeah, well.." He lifted the lid from the tabbouleh, picking up a serving spoon, and scooped it out onto a small plate for her. "Let's not talk about that part of it, OK? It's worth it. That's all."

"You didn't buy these dishes," she said, accepting the plate.

He chuckled. "No. Mom let me borrow her serving set from Greece. They're a family scareloom. Try it, Cleo. I spent all night on this; I need some feedback."

She took small bites, gazing around the stone chamber. The tabbouleh tasted bright and refreshing, all mint, lemon, and crisp cucumber. She watched Deuce eat, knowing that, for him, this was about creating an experience for the two of them to share. "It's delicious," she said, and he smiled.

"Drinks," he said, starting up from his seat. "It's only iced tea with sugarcane. I was going to do mango juice, but, uh, Perseus got into the fruit.."

"Someday," she said, folding her hands in her lap, "I won't be the only one who gets to enjoy your cooking skills." She laughed. "You're blushing."

"Trick of the light." He held a glass out to her and poured another for himself. "So.. you'll be back once the murderer is found, right?"

She sighed, finishing off the tabbouleh. "I hope so. Daddy is talking about going back to Egypt for a while, though, so I really don't know."

Deuce took her plate, replacing it with a clean one. He lifted the lid on another dish, and the spicy-sweet odor of chicken shawarma wafted out. Cleo's stomach rumbled as she watched him heap the saucy food onto a plate. "Mom's been talking about us taking a trip to Athens, but I don't think she'll go through with it. She's worried that it would look suspicious. Like anyone's watching us, right? I mean, the kid was murdered, not turned to stone."

"I bet he would have preferred that."

He laughed, despite himself. "Right?"

She took a few more bites, chewing thoughtfully, before she said, "Deuce, you don't think.."

Deuce shook his head. "There are some strange kids at this school, OK, but I can't understand why anyone would want to go into normie-ville and kill off a random kid."

"I heard he had a girlfriend here."

He looked up at her. "Where'd you hear that? Sounds like Spectra's brand of 'news'."

"Not her. Come to think of it, she's been pretty quiet lately. Do you know she stopped updating the Ghostly Gossip?"

His eyes narrowed. "You've got to be kidding. That blog was her whole unlife."

Cleo shrugged. "Stress does different things to people. Good thing I'm immune to it. Anyways, no, I overheard the police officers discussing it yesterday during their interview sessions."

"So they think it was a revenge killing, or what?"

"Oh, I don't know. I'm tired of talking about this. Where are those plums you promised?"

Deuce stood, checking the various remaining dishes, and taking up another clean plate. He scooped plums and yogurt onto the plate, passing it across the table. "There's baklava, too. Fresh honey from the hives out behind the hedge maze."

She shook her head, dabbing yogurt from the corner of her mouth. "This is amazing. You're amazing, Deuce. I can't even tell you how wonderful this is."

"Well, I figured we wouldn't have the chance to eat together again for a while." He sat, watching her eat for a moment, then said, "You'll still be able to call me and text and stuff, right?"

"Probably."

"Probably? That's.. not an answer, Cleo. Your dad's not going to take your phone away, is he?"

She shifted, rolling her eyes as she chewed. "He might. I don't know. You have to understand, Deuce, he's very upset by all of this."

"And that makes it OK for him to take away your phone?"

"Let's not spoil this with a fight, Deuce. Please?" She lifted a glass; the candlelight refracted on the liquid inside, scattering slivers of amber light across her face and the table. "This isn't how I want you to remember me."

He stiffened, scowling. "So you're not just leaving school, you're leaving me, too?"

"Oh, Deuce." She took a drink, set the glass down, put one hand over his on the tabletop. "If I can't leave home and I can't attend school, how am I supposed to see you?"

"I could come visit you." He grinned, winking at her behind his glasses. "You know, climb in a window, spend some time together after everyone else has gone to sleep.."

"Daddy doesn't sleep. You know that. And you'd be dismembered by the Anubians before you could get to my chamber."

One of his hands formed into a fist. "Cleo, he's cutting you off, he's trying to control you -"

"Yes, and he just might be saving my life by doing so. Isn't your mother doing the same thing?"

"No! Because it's crazy! It's obsessive and weird and super-controlling!" He shoved his chair back from the table. "You should tell him no. You can't do this to me, Cleo. You can't let him do this to you."

She shook her head slowly, not meeting his eyes. "You don't understand."

"What if the tomb becomes unsafe? What if there really is a threat, or he just thinks there is? Is he going to lock you up again?"

Cleo closed her eyes, and he knew he'd crossed the line. He let out a slow hissing breath, watching her eyelids tremble.

"Cleo.. hey, I'm sorry. Don't cry. I didn't mean -" He reached out for her, but she shoved him away, pushing back from the table.

She didn't wipe the tears from her eyes, and the ones that didn't fall onto the tabletop ran in long streaks down her face, carrying her eyeliner with them. "How dare you," she said, glaring at him. "I am trying to do the right thing here. Do you think I want to leave the school? Do you think I want to be locked inside there, with Nefera, and my father, and the memories of everything we had before? Do you even know what it's like for me, going home now? All he talks about is 'the trouble in Egypt' and how this is just the same.. and.. and you know how that ended!"

He nodded, silent, unable to speak.

"A thousand years," she said, trembling with the effort to keep from breaking down. She lowered her head. He stared at her, the strands of gold in her hair, the deep chestnut hues brought out by the candlelight. She let out a stifled sob, and her arms went tight around her body, hands grasping at the bandages that kept her intact.

Deuce got up, walking around the table, and knelt beside her. "Hey," he said, slipping one hand into hers. She lifted her face and he wiped tears from her eyes, smearing eyeliner and mascara across her cheekbone and his own hand. "That's not going to happen. OK?"

She shook her head, disbelieving, terrified. "What if it does?"

"You can tell him no. Cleo, trust me. You don't have to do what he says just because he's your dad. Especially if it hurts you."

Again she shook her head. "Easy for you to say."

She stood, taking a deep breath, and began to wipe her face clean with her napkin, pulling a compact from her bag. "I have to deliver a few personal goodbyes before I leave," she said, and he marvelled at how easily she withdrew back into her shielded demeanor, her expression one of neutral annoyance.

"Cleo," he said, wanting to summon back the raw honesty of seconds ago, but she was already gone, fixing her makeup in the mirror. "I wish you would believe me. I wish you would believe in yourself. You don't have to.."

"What choice do I have?"

He shook his head, at a loss, destroyed by her absolute blindness. "You always have a choice, Cleo."

The corner of her mouth quirked at him, mocking. She looked up at the sparkling webs across the ceiling. "How do I get out of here? I'm running short on time."

Deuce turned away, stacking their dirty plates. "There's a stairwell back towards the river. Just go up the way you came."

She hesitated, watching him, and he tried to ignore the magnetic pull her gaze had on him. Then she turned and walked back up the slope, headed for the river and the school grounds.

When he was sure she'd gone, Deuce slumped into one of the chairs, unveiling the handmade baklava, and helped himself to three of them as he loosened his collar.


	26. Chapter 26

Twyla stepped from the shadows into the darkened Mad Science classroom. The seats were empty, the blackboard blank. She drew back into the darkness, stepping next into one of the boxes in Operetta's lair, and leaned down to peer over the balcony. Also empty, though that wasn't a surprise. She considered calling out for Operetta, then decided against it, fading into the shadows once again. _Think, Twyla. Where is she? If you were her, where would you go?_

She stepped into the old library, gratified to hear the gentle rustle of turning pages. She followed the sound through the stacks.

"Spectra," she said, sighing, as she spotted the opaque girl seated beside a wobbly pile of dusty books, intent on the one propped up on her knees.

"Oh, Twyla." Spectra smiled up at her. "What brings you here?"

Twyla frowned, taking a seat on the old cracked floor. "You weren't there for your interview with the police officer."

Spectra frowned, looking away, and returned to her book.

"Look.. Rochelle and the Headmistress are worried, OK? They want to be sure.. I want to be sure you're all right."

The ghost girl lifted one shoulder, still avoiding Twyla's gaze. "Fine. Just fine."

"Yeah, well.. Today was the last day for the interviews, and if the New Salem P. D. thinks the students are being evasive or non-compliant, they're more likely to actually arrest someone. And now you're on their list, Spectra."

She shrugged again, her expression sour. "I'm already a suspect. What difference does it make?"

Twyla scowled. "Nobody suspects you, Spectra. Not that I know of."

Spectra closed the book, setting it aside. "I didn't do anything wrong. I found him like that, I swear. I didn't touch him."

Twyla drew a spiral in the dust with one fingertip. "I didn't know you found him."

"It's the truth."

"Did you tell the Headmistress?"

Spectra shook her head, refusing to look at Twyla, and didn't speak for a long moment. "I found him, and I think I know who killed him. It's too awful, Twyla. I didn't want to hurt him," she said. "We were so alike. Lonely. Invisible. Silenced. I only wanted to help him. You understand, don't you?"

She nodded, watching Spectra's face. "Wanted to help him with what, exactly?"

"Finding himself. Finding his strength. Freeing him from what his parents and those awful kids had made him." Spectra sighed, raising one hand to her face, and got to her feet. Twyla trailed after her as she walked into one of the narrow side aisles.

She took a deep breath, scowling as Spectra dropped down and began to work a loose brick from the wall beside the ancient computer desk, and tried to think of something to say.

"He'll come after me next, you know." Spectra drew a long-sleeved button-up shirt from the hole she'd created in the wall. Brick dust and crumbling plaster spattered the floor around their feet. "Those boys who came to the school and attacked Clawd? They were looking for me, too."

"Look, Spectra, this isn't like you. I'm worried, OK? You're hiding, you're paranoid, you've stopped updating your blog, and - "

Spectra stood, her eyes fierce. "You need to know why? I'll tell you. I knew Gary had enemies, OK? I'd seen him deal with them before. But what was done to him - that wasn't human. There's murder, and then there's.. brutality, mutilation, torture. He wasn't just killed, Twyla. He begged for death." She shoved the shirt at Twyla, angry, saddened. "This is all the proof I have, and you can take it."

"Proof?" Twyla looked at the wadded-up shirt, its pattern coated in white dust and chunks of crumbling brick. She unfolded it, shaking it out. There were several rust-colored tears in the fabric, ragged at the edges, heavily stained. A folded square of paper fell to the floor. She knelt to retrieve it, laying the shirt over one arm, and noticed a thin layer of loose, dark brown fur around the collar and sleeves, as if the person wearing it had been wrestling with a dog. Twyla unfolded the paper; it, too, was stained, and bits of it flaked off as she opened it out. It had been pressed and folded for a long time.

Spectra paced, hovering, as Twyla read over the note. "Spectra," she said at last. "Did you read this?"

The ghost shook her head. "The fur and the holes were enough for me. I knew."

"But.." Twyla re-read the note, frowning. "This is impossible. You don't really think it could be Clawd, do you?"

She nodded, avoiding Twyla's eyes. "You can't tell. Swear to me you won't tell!"

Twyla tucked the bundle under her arm. "If this proves Clawd did it, I'll have to tell, Spectra. Otherwise those officers are going to come back and they're not going to be happy."

Spectra turned away. "You can't tell, or he'll go back."

"For you?"

Spectra shook her head. "For the rest of Gary's family."


	27. Chapter 27

"Watch it, dead girl." Toralei shoved past Frankie on her way to the bench, pom-poms bouncing, trailed by her two lackeys. In the bleachers surrounding the gym, monsters hooted and hollered, stomping and applauding as the buzzer for halftime sounded.

Draculaura brushed up alongside Frankie, scoffing. "Rude much?"

"This is a disaster," Frankie said, looking back at the scoreboard. Ghoulia had just switched out the numbers. "Belfry Prep's got ten points on us, Lala. I don't think we're going to make it."

"Well, that's what we're here for, right?" She shook her pom-poms, rocking up on her toes. "We've just got to get the boys motivated, is all."

"Hey! Undead and deader!" Toralei called, and tossed them water bottles as they turned. "Get hydrated or you're going to screw up our routine."

"Right. Um, thanks." Frankie twisted off the cap, watching the casketball team jog a slow lap around their half of the court. "I don't know, Lala. I mean, look at Clawd. Doesn't he look ragged to you?"

Draculaura watched him for a moment, then shook her head, taking a drink of water. "He's just worried, is all. We all are. Right? But hey! This is our last night of fearleading, so let's enjoy it!"

Thumping bass slammed into the speakers, echoing through the gym, and the bass line of Catty Noir's"Ghouls Ghouls Ghouls" made the bleachers rattle with sympathetic vibration. In the stands, a few hardcore Noir fans let out fangirlish screams, giggling.

"All right!" Toralei shouted, and the fearleaders ran out onto the court, ready to launch into the routine they'd been practicing for the past week.

As they went into formation, Frankie felt more keenly than before the absence of Cleo, whose commanding presence had always been a driving factor behind the fearleading team. She looked up at Ghoulia, balanced atop a ladder beside the scoreboard. The zombie smiled, giving her a thumbs-up, and Frankie found herself smiling in response. Then Gorey shoved into her shoulder. Frankie snapped into the group's rhythm, resolute on giving it her all. Cleo would've wanted it that way.

On the sidelines, Venus McFlytrap lifted a black graphic tee from the box at her side, printed with a bright pink logo. "Get your 'Proud Monster' shirts here! Free of charge, made with all organic materials, cruelty-free dyes!"

Gil put a hand on Lagoona's arm, noticing her sudden change in attitude. "Don't let her get to you. We're here to enjoy the game, right?"

"Oh, yeah. I know. But seeing her pushing her propaganda like that.. it's sand in my shorts, you know?"

Gil frowned. "Lagoona, this is the last game we're going to see for a while. Why don't I go get us a drink?"

"Nah. I'll get it. Be right back."

Lagoona strolled along the front row of the bleachers, stepping around the crowd taking Venus' shirts, and walked up to the concession stand at the far end of the court. "Two seaweed shakes, mate."

Eyera nodded, leaning down for the plastic cups.

The blender whirred behind her as Lagoona turned. She watched the fearleaders run through their routine. They'd put a lot of work into this one; the group moved as a whole, in sync with one another, a force to be reckoned with. Even Draculaura, usually the weak point, was in step, putting all her energy out onto the floor. She smiled to herself. Seeing them work so well as a unit was impressive, but knowing this would be the last time for a while tinted the whole evening.

She felt a nudge at the back of her arm and turned, accepting the cups from Eyera, passing a couple of bills into his hand. "Thanks. Cheers."

"Oh, hey, Lagoona!" Venus spotted her on her way past and leaped forward, holding out one of her tees. "Here! Show those New Salemites we're here, we're fear, get used to it!"

Lagoona eyed the shirt. "Thanks, but no thanks, Venus."

"Wait." The plant girl stepped into her path as she tried to walk away. "Why not? I know you're proud of your monster heritage, right?"

"Well.. yeah." Lagoona looked up at Gil, watching from the stands, then turned her attention to Venus. "But it's not a competition, see? They're just trying to protect their own. I think the right thing to do would be to help them, not waste our time drawing lines in the sand."

Venus' face twisted, sour. "I would've thought you'd be on my side. Don't you care about monster rights?"

"I thought you would be preaching tolerance and understanding! How is this any different from protecting the planet?"

"What have monsters ever done to harm the planet?" Venus frowned, hands on her hips.

"What have normies ever done to hurt you?"

"Why don't you two just kiss already?" Heath called from the stands.

Venus turned, bunching the shirt in her hand into a ball, and tossed it at his flaming head. She gave Lagoona a look of disgust while Heath fought to catch the charred remains before they hit the bleachers and caused a real fire. "You know, I could have guessed a monster who identifies so closely with traditional normie teenager roles wouldn't be able to appreciate my stance on this issue."

"Excuse me?" Lagoona straightened, almost spilling shake down the front of her shirt as she gesticulated. "Shouldn't you be waist-deep in a compost heap right now, rather than pushing your propaganda at a school sporting event, if that's how you feel?"

"Whoa, whoa." Gil put a hand on Lagoona's shoulder. "Everyone just cool down."

"I'm just trying to promote self-acceptance," Venus said. "Why do you think that's a bad thing?"

"It's not that. It's your complete ignorance of what those poor normies are going through. You're not uniting monsters, you're putting up walls between us and them."

Gil took the shakes from Lagoona's hands, linking his arm through hers. "Maybe you should wait until school on Monday to pass out your shirts," he suggested to Venus, offering a smile, but she just crossed her arms over her chest, sulking. He walked Lagoona back to their seat, handing her her drink, and looked sidelong at her. "Don't let her get you boiling, Lagoona. She's an activist. It's what she does."

Lagoona shook her head, taking a long sip from her seaweed shake. "It's just mucking up the whole problem. That boy has a family, you know? My folks would be heartbroken if something happened to me. Yours too. How can she pretend normies aren't worth our respect? They've got feelings, too."

"Yep. You're right. But we came here to support our friends and help them beat the kelp out of Belfry Prep."

Lagoona sighed. "Yeah. Sorry. It's a waste of energy, anyhow, being mad at her. May as well be mad at a sea urchin for having spikes."

Gil grinned and gave her an affectionate squeeze around the shoulders. "Right. Hey, two minutes to game. You ready to yell?"

"With the best of 'em." She stood, cupping one hand around her mouth. "Clawd! Rip 'em to shreds, mate!"

Clawd looked up, grinning at Lagoona, and waved back at her, mopping sweat from his face and neck.

"Pretty good game so far."

He startled. "Puck," he said. "Man, I didn't see you there. Maybe you and I are watching two different games, because if you ask me, we're getting spanked out there."

Puck grinned, unzipping his hoodie. "Don't tell me the big bad wolf is scared of a few scrawny vampires."

"Nah. No way. But they're one of the best teams in our league, and I guess I'm a little distracted tonight."

"Too bad it's not a full moon." Puck looked out across the court, his gaze lingering on the fearleaders as they finished their routine and filed back to their bench. "You busy after the game?"

"Lala and I were going to go out for a bite. I'd invite you along, but..."

The two exchanged a grin. "Hey, no problem." Puck stepped back, standing on the first row of the bleachers. "I'll catch up with you after your victory, all right, Wolfman?"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." Clawd rolled his shoulders, watching the clock on the scoreboard, Belfry Prep's players clustering around their coach, and took a long drink of water.

The buzzer sounded, and they jogged to center court. Deuce high-fived him in passing, and he tried not to think about how uneven their team was tonight. So many students had simply left due to New Salem's involvement and their parents' paranoia. Deuce was an asset as shooting guard and Simon made the best center in their league, but he felt in some small way glad that this would be the last game for the foreseeable future; the group wasn't designed to work together.

The ball went to Belfry Prep, and Clawd followed, easily matching his speed to their point guard. The boy bared his fangs, snarling, and made a pass to the small forward. Deuce tried to block the pass but he was too slow, leaping across empty space while the small forward hustled for the hoop.

Clawd backed, almost tripping over Belfry Prep's much shorter point guard. The boy shoved him sideways, growling, as the forward passed in their direction. Clawd stepped into the path of the ball, glancing around the sidelines for the ref, wondering if anyone had seen the shove. He took the ball, dribbling for the opposite side of the court, pleased to see Deuce and Simon already getting into position as their opponents scrambled. Playing against vampires usually involved intimidation and teeth-baring, but Belfry Prep backed it up with true athleticism and smooth execution, at least as long as they felt the game was going in their favor.

Clawd passed to Deuce. Despite the enthusiasm of Belfry Preps' shooting guard, pressing up close, trying to knock him off balance, he maneuvered to the top of the key and made a decent lay-up shot from the two-point line. The ball rolled around the hoop and bounced out, rolling off-sides.

Deuce cursed, scowling at the jumpy shooting guard on his side, and the teams returned to starting position.

"Five minutes," Clawd said, panting.

Deuce shook his head, but he kept quiet, not wanting their opponents to hear any negativity.

"Come on, Clawd! You can do it!" Draculaura stood, pulling Frankie up alongside her. "Let's go, Monster High! Get the ball and make 'em cry!"

Again Deuce shook his head, smirking at Clawd. "Did she just make that up?"

"It's sweet," Clawd said, grinning back.

The ball went to Belfry Prep a second time, and they were ready. Deuce scrambled, but they had a solid three-point shot within a minute.

"All right, Clawd. If you've been holding back on us, now's the time to let go."

"Right." Clawd swiped sweat from his face.

The ball went to Monster High. Clawd chased, dodging the point guard's efforts to trip him up and fake him out. Deuce went ahead, signalling he was open, but as soon as Clawd was ready to pass the over-enthused shooting guard had shoved himself in front of Deuce once more. Clawd pivoted back and passed to Simon, who caught the ball and made his way to the three-point line. The small forward jumped up moments before his shot, knocking the ball back, and Belfry Prep's forward guard swept it up, dodging around Clawd on his way across the floor.

"Simon!" Deuce barked, and the lanky cyclops gave a shrug, shame-faced.

"Cool it." Clawd motioned them forward, and they swarmed Belfry Prep on the key. Deuce blocked the shot and Simon picked it up, but halfway to center court, he tripped over the small forward guarding him and crashed to the court floor.

The ref's whistle blew, the buzzer sounded, and the game was over.

"Aren't you going to fight that?" Deuce said, helping Simon to his feet. The small forward crawled out from beneath him, gasping for air, carefully coiffed hair askew.

Clawd shook his head. "We're fifteen points behind. No redemption there, man. Let's just call it."

"Quitter," snarked the Belfry Prep point guard, strolling back to his bench.

Deuce shook his head, and Clawd calmed himself. He turned back to the bench, picking up his water bottle, and took a hearty drink.

The ref appeared at his side. "That was a foul. You could take a free throw if you like. It's in the rules."

"And what, take a three-point consolation prize? We've lost. It's fine. I just want to get out of here."

"Bad luck," said a familiar voice after the ref walked away, and Clawd turned, giving Puck a weary grin.

"Nice of you to say so, but it's because we're missing some key players. I don't even know those two so well." He nodded at them nonetheless, picking up his towel.

"Oh, sweetheart." Draculaura threw herself into his midsection, squeezing him in a massive hug. "I'm so sorry!"

"Hey, it's all right. It happens."

"You want to go out to the all-night diner? We can fang out for a little while. I've got to be home by midnight, but that's plenty of time, right?"

Clawd winced. "We can go out, sure. I'd like that."

"Great! I'm going to go get cleaned up. BRB!" Draculaura waved, skipping off across the court to rejoin her friends.

Puck cocked his head at Clawd, curious. "You don't seem all that enthused. Are you getting bored with the peppy vampire girl?"

"No. I just really want a big, juicy steak right now." He sighed, scanning the bleachers, then called out, "Yo, Clawdeen! Put a steak in the fridge for me, will you?"

She laughed. "You and Howleen can fight over the last one. I'm going home to cook one up for myself right now. Mmmmm, boy, that's going to be good!"

Puck watched Clawd shake his head, restraining himself from swearing at his sister, and said, "It's good to see a monster so dedicated to being himself for a change. Why do you let her stop you from eating what you want?"

"It's no big deal. She has this.. thing.. about blood. Whatever. I'll just cook it myself when I get home later."

"She's a vampire, isn't she?"

Puck followed Clawd across the court, to the hall leading down into the locker rooms. "Yeah, she just doesn't agree with the whole blood thing."

"How does she survive?"

Clawd shrugged. "Synthetics. And a ton of veggies. I swear, the girl could eat twice her weight in tomatoes in a single day."

Heath smacked Clawd in the shoulder, laughing. "Wow, those Belfry Prep brats, huh? That was the funniest game I've ever seen."

"Thanks. Listen, I've got to go shower. I'll be back."

Puck grinned at Heath, leaning up against the doorway. "You play sports, too?"

"Yep. Track and SKRM. How about you? You'd be great for soccer."

Puck shook his head, looking away. "Listen, can I ask a stupid question? I'm noticing a lot of normie-like programs at this school. I've attended other monster schools, you know, but this one is definitely.. normie-flavored. Why do you go along with it?"

Heath frowned, uncertain. Behind him, Manny, Gil and Lagoona, and Hoodude Voodoo had gathered, waiting to congratulate the team as they left the lockers.

"Well," Heath said after a moment, "mostly just because they're fun."

Puck nodded, looking at each of them with an unsettling intensity. "So you attend school. You try to get good grades, you play sports, you take part in various clubs. Your parents, I assume, have homes and jobs and.. mortgages.. that kind of thing. Why?"

Manny grunted, looking at his friends.

"What do you mean, why?" Heath said, frowning.

Puck shrugged. "You're monsters. What do you need money for? Houses? Jobs? Good report cards? Hell.." He reached out, pulling at the lapels of Heath's letter jacket. "What do you need clothes for? What do you need this school for? What's the point?"

Heath adjusted his jacket, discomforted. "It's just the way things are."

"Right, but why? Do you ever think about that? You know, Heath, where I come from, fire elementals aren't confined to any specific place. They roam the countryside, naked as jaybirds, setting things on fire as it pleases them. There's no one to tell them no or discourage them, or tell them, hey, put on some freakin' pants. You're wild, man. You, and Manny, and Clawd.. the whole lot of you. So why do you let them collar you like this, bend you, indoctrinate you?"

Lagoona exchanged a glance with Gil. "Have you been talking with Venus?"

"You," Puck said, pointing. "Tell me about your parents. They know they're monsters. They don't pretend to be anything else. Right?"

Lagoona frowned. "Well, yeah, but they want me to get a good education."

"Why? Are you supposed to get some kind of fancy job after all this? Do you really think anyone's going to hire a monster oceanologist, or that there's a future for you in competitive swimming?"

Gil scowled at Puck as Lagoona's shoulders drooped. "Come on, Lagoona. This guy's all wet. We've got better things to do with our time."

"Yeah?" Puck laughed. "Like what? Let me guess.. dinner dates, curfew, homework? Normie stuff?" He shook his head. "Sad, really."

Draculaura and Frankie came up behind Heath and Manny, noting the quiet demeanor of the crowd, and peered around at Puck.

"Oh. It's you," said Draculaura, folding her arms across her chest.

"What's going on?" Frankie said, frowning.

Puck's smile became decidedly more predatory. Heath glanced at the girls, discomforted.  
"Hey, uh.. Manny.. maybe we should go."

"Yeah," Manny said, eyeing Puck. He shook his head, dismissing the short boy with a wave of his hand. "I'm no big fan of normies, but maybe I like my boring monster life just the way it is. It's better than being stuck in a maze in Greece all my life."

"Why don't you get out of here, too, Puck?" Draculaura said.

"I will. Shortly. I've got a question for you first, if you don't mind."

"What's that?"

"Do you hate your father?"

Draculaura flushed scarlet, her eyes going wide. "Excuse me?"

Puck shrugged. "It seems you do an awful lot to lash out against him. You're dating a werewolf, for starters. You go out in the daytime. You can't even stand to look at blood, much less drink it. Should we just start calling you Sparkles, rather than associating you with the King of the Vampires?"

"For your information," Draculaura said, her voice going high and tight in her throat, "I love my father very much, and he totally supports my decisions."

Puck cocked an eyebrow at her, smirking. "Really? Somehow I doubt that. You can't tell me he'd be happier to see you with one of the boys from Belfry Prep than your shaggy dog date. Or that he'd much rather know you're going out and killing normies, just like he does, whenever the mood strikes you."

Frankie glanced down towards the lockers just as Deuce and Clawd came up the walkway. She motioned to him urgently, but he was busy drying his hair, saying to Deuce, "I had it earlier, right? Do you think it's under the bleachers? I'll just look for it on Monday. I can go a weekend without my jacket, I guess."

"I'm.. I'm not.. Clawd!" Draculaura said, bursting into tears, and ran to him. She threw her arms around his midsection, sobbing.

Clawd looked from Lala to Frankie to Puck, mystified. "What's going on?"

Frankie huffed, hands on her hips. "This creep was just bad-mouthing Draculaura and made her cry, that's all."

Puck shrugged. "Like that's some great feat. She cries over fingernail polish. Don't get your fur in a knot, Wolfman; I didn't say anything that wasn't true."

Draculaura looked up at Clawd, wailing. "He says if I'm dating you I must not love my dad!"

"And worse," Frankie said.

Clawd's face went red. Deuce stepped off to the side, slinging his towel around his neck, distinctly uncomfortable. "Not cool," Clawd said, glaring at Puck.

Again Puck shrugged, nonchalant. "Girl's gotta face the truth sometime. Listen, I gotta go. I'd say I'm sorry, but.. I'm not." He gave Draculaura a genuine smile, without malice. "In order to be happy, you have to be honest with yourself. Right?"

"Just go," Frankie said, and watched as Puck trudged across the court, towards the heavy metal exit doors.

"Dude," said Deuce, shaking his head. "That's just stone cold."

"Are you all right, Lala?"

"No!" Draculaura sobbed, crushing herself into Clawd's abs. "Why would he say that? Clawd? I never did anything to him!"

"Hey. You need a ride home?" Deuce asked, and Frankie looked relieved.

"My parents were supposed to come pick me up but Dad's been super-busy lately. That's nice of you." She knelt, picking up her duffel bag, and gave Draculaura's arm a brief squeeze. "I've gotta go home, but call me later, OK?"

Draculaura nodded, still sobbing.

"See ya," Clawd said, waving to Deuce as they left.

He waited until her crying had slowed to a whimper. The gym around them was dark and silent. A gargoyle janitor came in, sweeping up wrappers and trash from the gymnasium floor, ignoring them.  
Clawd took Draculaura's hand, walking her over to the bleachers, and they sat beside one another while she sniffled, wiping her eyes.

"Clawd, I'm sorry. I don't mean to throw a little baby fit like that."

He shrugged, putting an arm around her shoulders. "I just want to know you're OK."

She nodded. "I'm not, really. I can't believe he'd say those things to me!"

"He's just trying to get a rise out of you. Ignore it."

"Ignore it?" She scoffed. "Easy for you to say! Your mom's just glad you're not having litters."

He turned, raising an eyebrow at her, and she shook her head, blushing scarlet.

"I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that.."

"Well, it's more or less true, so, no harm done. Listen, Lala. I know you don't want to hear it, but he does make a good point. Vampires are a pretty selective bunch, right? And you're.. like.. the absolute vampire princess. Your dad is the head honcho. So it probably doesn't sit well with him, that you've made some of these choices. But those are your choices. Own it."

She sniffled, nodding. "Thanks, Clawd."

"I can't say I understand the choices you've made, either, but they're yours. I can't imagine denying my nature as much as you do. Sometimes I'm amazed at how strong you are, Lala, defying the history of your people. Sometimes, to be honest, I wonder if you're just doing it for attention.. or, like he said, to piss off your dad."

Draculaura stared at him, aghast. "How can you say that?"

Clawd shrugged. "Why not be who you are? What's wrong with that? Isn't our school motto 'be yourself, be unique, be a monster'? I'm a monster, Lala. I'm hairy and I like to howl and I love red meat, and on the night of the full moon nothing can stop me. That's me. That's always been me, and that's who I'll be until I die. I'm ready to be a monster. Where are you?"

She continued to stare. She slid aside, separating from him, and put her arms around herself. "I'm a vampire, but I believe in being something better."

"You know there are normies who would kill - literally - to be like either of us? And sometimes it seems like you're just throwing that away." He frowned. "I'm sorry, I know it's hard to hear, but -"

"People like my father give in to their most basic urges all the time. Is that the best life you can imagine? Is that the life you want, Clawd? Because, if it is.." She stood, slinging her duffel bag over one shoulder. "If it is, then maybe we're not meant to spend our lives together."

Clawd stood, stunned into momentary silence while Draculaura turned and marched towards the exit. "Wait! Together? Hey, Lala - hold up! Do you need a ride?"

"Not from you, thanks!"

The door slammed behind her, and Clawd stood in the darkened gym, wondering exactly what he'd just destroyed.


	28. Chapter 28

Draculaura stood in the shadowed front hall, sniffling, wiping tears from her cheeks. She paused, listening for movement, then turned and slammed the door.

"Laura?"

He swept down the staircase towards her, cape billowing out behind, almost flying. "Where have you been? You were supposed to be home an hour ago."

She stared into his face, waiting for him to comment on her smeared makeup. The silence stretched. She burst into a fresh bout of tears. "Daddy, I got in a fight at school, and Clawd doesn't want to date me anymore, and everyone hates me!"

She threw herself against him. He hugged her for a moment, sighing, then stepped back. He stared at her, long enough that she became uncomfortable, his gaze taking in her ruined makeup and dishevelled hair. "Are you hungry, pumpkin? How about a nice hot cup of.. uh.. tea to calm your nerves?"

She sniffled, trying to wipe mascara off one cheek. "Do we have any hot cocoa?"

He turned, moving towards the massive kitchen. "Tell me about this fight. Were you hurt?"

Draculaura slid into a seat at the breakfast nook, using a napkin to blot runny makeup from her face. "You should have heard the things this boy said to me, Daddy. He says I'm not a real vampire. And Clawd," she hiccupped, "Clawd thinks he's right!"

"Don't cry," he said, turning in a hurry, but it was too late. Draculaura slumped over the countertop, sobbing at high volume. He returned to staring intently at the teapot, gradually raising the temperature of the water within, waiting for his daughter to calm down.

"I mean," she said, sobbing, "it's not my fault blood makes me sick! And I'd really like to be able to turn into a bat but I'm not old enough yet! And, you know, I don't want to hurt anybody, really! Why's that so wrong?"

He set her mug down with force. Cocoa sloshed over the edge, forming a puddle on the countertop. "Laura," he said, leaning against the opposite counter, "you have to understand, there are certain expectations people have of vampires."

"Daddy," she said, sighing as she drew the mug close.

He waved a hand, dismissing her objections before she could start. "I know you've heard it before. We've had this discussion so many times, yet you continue to resist your nature. When will you -"

"No, Daddy, when will you?" She looked up at him, pleading. "Don't I have a say in what is and is not my nature? I'm not here to fulfill some ideal of what a vampire is. I'm here to.. to be myself."

"Yes, but darling -"

She shook her head, rising from her seat. "My whole school is under attack for being who and what we are! And all you have to say is 'they're right'? Just like Clawd!"

He paused, searching for words while she stared.

"Well, are you even going to protect us from them? Or are you just going to shrug your stupid cape-wearing shoulders and go 'Oh, that's just the way it is'?"

He pursed his lips, eyes narrowing. "That is the way it is, Draculaura. And if the school has done its job well, and you can renounce your lingering attempt at false humanity, then you won't need my protection. But I have very little hope that will be the case. You are every bit as misguided and headstrong as your mother." He stood, floating towards the stairwell. "Please wash your cup when you are finished and remember to turn off the kitchen light. I am going out."

She crumpled back into her seat, wrapping one hand around the still-warm mug, and stared down into the cocoa within. She wanted to call after him, ask him not to leave, or call Clawd for sympathy, but those weren't options any longer. She pulled out her iCoffin, still considering, then set it aside on the countertop, sighing.

"Nobody wants to hear it, Lala," she said to herself. "Not anymore.."


	29. Chapter 29

Robecca pulled out one of the wire chairs as she passed, sliding into the next, and Venus took a seat at her side.

"I know you feel bad," Venus said to Rochelle as the gargoyle sat slumped in her chair, "but you really weren't doing anything wrong. And neither was she."

Rochelle looked up, frowning. "Entering another being's home without permission is wrong."

"Yes, but how do you know it was without permission?"

"Perhaps the little girl invited her," Robecca said. "Stranger things have happened. They didn't do anything, besides."

The three paused as the olive-skinned barista delivered their coffincinos to the table.

Venus took a sip of hers. Wincing, she pushed it at Robecca. "This is yours."

"Are you sure?"

Venus nodded. "No cream Americano double shot? Ugh. May as well drink motor oil."

"Ooh, now don't tell me that's on the menu." Robecca grinned, taking the cup, and lifted the lid off the one given her by the barista. "Well, what do you know? You're absolutely right, love. This is far too sweet for my tastes. Must be yours."

Rochelle drank down a few gulps of sweet, hot coffee, then sat back in her chair, trying to relax. "It just didn't feel right, that's all. It felt as if something bad was about to happen."

Venus shook her head. "That's projection. You felt bad about watching, therefore, you transferred those negative feelings onto the event you witnessed. It's common. Don't worry."

"She put her hand into the girl's chest, Venus."

Robecca arched an eyebrow. "Rochelle, what you saw is very questionable. You understand, don't you? We're not doubting you or pooh-poohing your feelings, love, we're just trying to help you understand what you saw. She could have put a hand beside the girl. Her hands are translucent, after all."

"_Oui. Je suppose_." Rochelle shook her head. "Still.."

"Let it go, Rochelle. Just for now. Hey.. your boyfriend's here."

Rochelle sat up, scanning the room, then blushed at her friends as they giggled. "What? I don't even have a boyfriend. Stop it."

"Oh, but you do!" Venus smirked. "I can tell by the way you look at him. Don't look now, he's at the bar."

Robecca gave Venus a nudge. "Now stop that, Venus. She's already having a bad day."

"Right. And that's why we should go now, and let Deuce discover this poor mademoiselle all by her lonesome, waiting for someone to join her."

"No," Rochelle said, her blush deepening. "You wouldn't!"

Robecca gave her a shrug. Venus stood, shouldering her bag, and Robecca gathered her bag as well. "Sorry, love. I'm sure it's just what you need to cheer you up."

"Or at least distract you for a while," Venus said, winking. "Oh, hey, Deuce," she said, avoiding a near-collision as he was crossing from the bar, carrying a tall coffee. "Fancy running into you here. Bye, Rochelle! Hope you feel better!"

"_Merci_," Rochelle said, frozen, fuming, as her friends abandoned her there.

Deuce turned. She gave him a tiny smile, wracked with anxiety. All at once, she wanted him to go away, and sit down right beside her.

"Hey," he said, walking up to the table. "Mind if I sit with you?"

She looked around. "Cleo's not with you?"

"Uh.. no. Not today." He pulled out the chair opposite Rochelle and took a seat. "Your friends bailed on you, didn't they?"

"_Oui. Totallement._" She reached for her cup, sighing. "It is rare to see you without your friends, as well."

"I kind of had to sneak out, to be honest. My mom's all uptight right now. I needed a decent coffee, though, and a break." He took a sip from his cup, watching her fidget. "What about you? What are you up to today?"

Rochelle shook her head. "I don't know yet. I thought about going down to the roller maze, but I am not sure if that is possible, since Headmistress has put a stop to all extra-curricular activities now."

"I'm sure there's a way in. We could go explore, try to find it."

She looked up at him, unable to resist smiling in response to his devilish grin. "_Non_. That is a very bad idea, I think."

"Breaking into the school? Or going there with me?"

Rochelle looked away. The heat in her face told her she was blushing again. "Both."

"Well, it's a chance at adventure. Your call." He leaned back in his chair, sipping at his coffee, that grin lingering at the corners of his mouth.

She shook her head, scowling at him. "It seems you know just what to say," she said, picking up her coffee as she rose from her seat. "Let's go, before we lose the light."


	30. Chapter 30

"Now that we don't have Cleo to represent us, there's no slacking off. We have to look totally fierce," Clawdeen said, pawing through a rack of sparkling blouses, then passing them over for a series of brilliant off-the-shoulder sweaters. "Like nobody can mess with us. Like.. we own the place, you know?"

Frankie shook her head, giving Lagoona a sidelong glance. "Clawdeen, you always look that way."

"Aw, thanks, sweetheart. Now hold still. I think this hot pink would look killer on you."

Ghoulia groaned, replacing a slinky silver blouse, and Frankie translated for her. "We still don't know when they - the normies - are going to come back, do we?"

"No. So we've got to be prepared, every day. Am I right?"

Lagoona rolled her eyes. "This is getting expensive already. Clawdeen, I don't think I have the time or the credit limit for what you've got in mind."

Twyla ran one hand along the sleeve of a crushed velvet top, half-talking to Howleen as they lagged behind. "I'm just saying, maybe if we just kept to the shadows and let the normies do what they want, they'd be content to leave us alone longer."

Howleen growled in disagreement. She slouched against a display counter, crossing her arms over her chest, visibly annoyed. "You don't understand. This is how normies are, OK? This is how they treat us. And you're just going to take it?"

"Well, no, I just - "

"You think we should go into hiding, right? No way. They want to kill us. Are you going to stand up for yourself or what?"

Twyla straightened, stepping closer to her friend. "Spectra says sometimes normies get excited, they get scared, OK, but if we just leave them alone - "

"Then they'll march into town and burn us alive. Damn it, Twyla, what did I tell you about hanging around with that spook? She's not right in the head."

"Hey!" Clawdeen snapped, glaring at the two of them. "Quit barking in the store!"

Frankie fidgeted under the growing stack of clothes on her arm, pulling her iCoffin from her pocket. "Oh, hey, it's Lala, you guys."

"Oh, great. Right on time, as usual." Clawdeen threw another pair of stretch jeans on the pile, scowling at the options in their nooks along the wall. "What's up with her?"

"Says her dad's making her go nocturnal. For reals now. So she can get together with us after sunset." Frankie frowned, typing a quick response, and returned her phone to her pocket. "I'm not very good at reading moods through text messages, guys, but that definitely didn't sound like the usual Lala. Not enough exclamation points and little heart symbols."

"There was a guy at the casketball game last night giving every monster a hard time," Lagoona said. "Maybe she's still smarting over that."

"Yeah.. I don't know. Clawdeen, I can't afford half this stack. My dad's going to blow a fuse."

"All right, all right. Just get in the dressing room. You have to show me every single one, OK? Or else we'll have to start all over."

Howleen groaned, impatient. "I swear, you're just trying to make this take longer."

"Listen, pup, Mom made me promise to get you ice cream after, so shut it!"

Lagoona looked from Howleen and Twyla to Clawdeen, still digging through the rack selections, her face scrunched in effort. "Hey, Clawdeen, love? I've actually got some flyers I have to print up for school next week. How about I take the little bros with me, keep an eye on 'em for you?"

Clawdeen turned, eyes wide. "You can't hope to look dangerous in swim shorts and a hoodie, Lagoona."

"Oh.. I've got plenty of new duds at home, yeah? Went shopping with my dad last week. I'm prepared. No worries."

Clawdeen frowned for a moment, then gave her a sweet smile. "Meet us in the food court in an hour, all right?"

"Sure." She walked to where Howleen and Twyla stood. "Come on, girls."

"Thanks, Lagoona," Twyla said, and Lagoona waved it off.

"Yeah, thanks! We'll see you in the food court," Howleen said, and linking one arm through Twyla's, she headed off in the other direction.

"Uh, no. I promised your sister I'd keep an eye on you, and that's just what I'll do." Lagoona snagged the back of Howleen's jacket, marching them towards the escalator.

The wolf girl groaned, sagging. "Are we really going to the print shop? Could you even think of a more boring shop in the entire maul?"

Twyla said, "There's the candle store. The calendar kiosk. Oh, there's that fat sweaty guy who gives foot massages, how about that?"

She stifled a giggle at the expression on Howleen's face. "Gross. Fine. Print shop it is."

Lagoona knelt at the door, unrolling her flyers from her bag. "You can wait here, unless you really want to come in. I'll just be a moment."

Twyla watched her walk away, then turned to Howleen, who had resumed sulking. "So, uh.. can I ask you something totally out of the blue?"

Howleen raised an eyebrow. "Is it about boys?"

"Kind of, yeah."

"Sure. Shoot."

Twyla cleared her throat. "Remember last week, when those guys from New Salem attacked Clawd?"

"Yeah?"

"Why do you think they did that?"

Howleen turned, scowling. "Excuse me. Are you stupid? Do you remember anything about last week?"

"Yeah, I know, but.. why'd they go after Clawd, and not, I don't know, Heath, or Manny, or.. Jackson?"

Howleen barked laughter. "Because Jackson's a dweeb, is why."

Twyla gave her friend's shoulder a shove, pointing behind her.

"Oh gosh," Howleen said, ears flattening against her skull. "You heard that, huh?"

Jackson shrugged, giving her a good-natured grin. "It's all right. It's not as bad as some of the things people call me."

"I'm sorry," Twyla said, as Jackson passed them to enter the print shop. "My friend's incredibly dumb sometimes."

Howleen shoved her, and Twyla shoved back, giggling.

"That totally wasn't a question about boys, by the way. Here's a question about boys. Would you rather date a guy who likes the same music you do but looks kinda goofy, or a guy who looks like Justin Biter but has really awful taste in music?"

Twyla rolled her eyes, watching through the display window as Jackson and Lagoona literally collided with one another, spilling copies across the print shop floor. "That's a terrible question, and I bet I know your answer."

"Yeah, duh, but I want to know yours."

"The first one. Good taste comes first."

"Right, but Justin Biter's a hottie. Ha ha, my boyfriend's going to be hotter than yours."

Twyla grinned, reaching out to shove Howleen, who danced out of her reach. "So? Mine will be able to carry on a conversation."

"Yawn. OK, your turn. You ask me one now."

"Would you date a normie, if he looked like Justin Biter?"

Howleen turned, looking through the glass at Jackson and Lagoona. "Don't tell me you've got the hots for Mr Checkered Vest there."

"No. Ugh." Twyla turned away, leaning against the window. "But all this pro-monster, anti-normie speech has got me thinking. Would you date a normie?"

"Heck no. First off, my dad would probably disembowel him all over the yard. Secondly, ew. Normies are so boring."

"How do you know?"

Howleen shrugged, annoyed. "It's obvious, isn't it? I mean, just look at them."

"How many normies have you actually seen, Howleen?"

She heaved a sigh. "This question is stupid. My turn. You're on a date with some dreamy guy, and he wants to see a movie. What would you take him to see? One of the ones out right now."

Twyla frowned, watching the flow of monsters along the corridor. "Howleen, do you ever think about what we'll do after school?"

"What, like, on Monday? You're coming over to my place, right?"

"Not Monday, idiot. Like.. later. In our lives. When we're older."

Howleen shrugged. "I don't know. Get jobs? Get married maybe?"

"Jobs where? Here, at the maul? At the Coffin Bean?"

"What is up with you today? I can't even talk to you." Howleen scowled. "Are you PMSing? If you were on the rag I'd know, but I can't smell it before it happens."

"Gross," Twyla said, "and no, not that it's any of your business."

"Hey, little bros." Lagoona slipped her armload of copies into her bag. "Want to hear something amazing? Jackson's starting up a support group for identity-challenged monsters!"

Jackson grinned, blushing as all eyes shifted to him. "Well, uh," he said with a cough. "It's.. it's nothing big, really, just a little get-together for.. uh.. humans, monsters, and those who feel kind of in between."

Howleen snorted. "Like you?"

"Well, yes. Like me." He straightened, his expression firm. "Don't you ever wonder about the 'normie half' of your werewolf heritage, and how to express that?"

"Not really, no."

He turned to Twyla. "I'll bet you have an interesting perspective on our relationships with humans, don't you?"

"Interesting," Twyla said, nodding. "That's one way to describe it, yeah."

Jackson grinned. He held out a paper printed with the yin-yang symbol. "Feel free to come to our first meeting later this week. There'll be snacks, drinks, and who knows? Maybe you'll make some new friends." As Twyla took the paper, he waved to Lagoona. "See you later, Lagoona. And, uh, sorry again about that mess."

"No worries, bro." Lagoona waved, peering at the flyer over Twyla's shoulder. "So.. are you gonna go?"

"Heck no, she's not." Howleen took the flyer, stuffing it into her pocket, and linked her arm through Twyla's once again. "You don't need any normie-sympathizer friends, do you, Twy?"

"Uh.. I guess not. Maybe we can talk about this later."

Lagoona frowned at them, unsettled. "Hey! You small fries hungry? Let's head over to the food court. I'll get you some pizza."

"Sweet!" Howleen said, hugging Twyla's arm close to her side, and Twyla followed, pulled along almost against her will.


	31. Chapter 31

Billy sat outside New Salem Police Department headquarters, drumming invisible fingers on his invisible knees.

The sun had almost set in the west, and the oncoming night made him wish he was back at home, or at least safely out of New Salem. He shivered in the gathering dark and turned back to the doors, squinting, annoyed.

"Is that him?" he said, whispering, and felt a twinge somewhere in the back of his head.

_That's him, all right. On your feet now, boyo._

"I know, I know. Don't rush me."

He hurried down into the parking lot, sidling up close as the driver's door popped open. He made a grab for the keys, and the driver, surprised, released them. They fell to the ground. Billy ran around the far side of the car, opened the back passenger side door, and slipped inside. He held the door open until the driver re-entered, sitting, and they shut their doors in unison.

_Clever._

He shook his head, wondering if she could sense him blushing, unable to respond aloud and still not sure how to answer through her own channel.

Billy sat back, slouched in the seat, watching streetlights whir past as they drove through quiet suburban streets. The car remained silent, and Billy made a mental note: he doesn't like music, he doesn't like to be distracted. Maybe he's new to driving.

Soon the pattern of the lights changed, and Billy sat up to see they'd entered a small housing community with rows of pretty little Cape Cod houses arranged along neatly maintained streets. The black SUV cruised into a pastel yellow garage, the door opening before it like a gaping mouth, and the driver cut the lights and the engine at once.

Billy hesitated, startled by the sudden darkness, and missed his opportunity to open the door at the same time. The car beeped as the remote lock set itself, and his prey disappeared inside the house.  
He opened the door, sliding out, and crept up the narrow steps to the interior door. He grasped the doorknob, almost certain it would be locked. What then? Go home empty-handed?

_Calm down_, Scarah said, and he smiled to himself.

"Sorry. Just nervous."

The knob turned in his hand, and he stepped into the house, checking to make sure the coast was clear.

The garage door opened into a narrow corridor between the living room and a tiny dining room, facing the kitchen. A hallway branched off the dining room; Billy guessed Officer Goodfellow must be down there, in his bedroom perhaps, changing out of his uniform. In the living room, the TV played an episode of "Unsolved Mysteries" peppered with blaring advertisements for healthcare products.

"Okay," Invisi Billy said. "I'm in. What now?"

_Find me somethin'. Anythin', love. I've just got to prove he's bad news._

"Bad news," he repeated, scanning the kitchen counter, the breakfast nook, the dining room table.

There was a handful of junk mail, and atop it, an opened envelope, along with what appeared to be an unfolded letter.

He crossed to the table, dragging the letter towards him. "Can you see it?"

_Not clearly. You're goin' in and out. We've got to train you up on this. Read it over, maybe I can pick it up then._

Billy glanced at the hallway. A light burned at its end, and he could hear muffled radio music. He looked down at the letter, reading aloud under his breath for Scarah's sake.

_Dear Robin,_

_It has come to our attention there may be some obstacles to the conclusion of our business. To avoid this, we have enclosed a reproduction of a map, which would be very valuable to the Headmistress if she should become aware of its existence, and should thus be kept in closest confidence. _

_We have also contacted an advisor on your behalf. This man, Van Hellscream, should arrive in New Salem shortly. He commands a rather high price despite the favors we have done for him in the past, but requires only guidance and suggestion, as his own nature is in accord with our goals. He will be able to attend to the girl, as you cannot. He is, ultimately, disposable, but please be sure he has served his purpose first._

_This will be our last communique and our last offer of financial support. Should you require any further assistance, you will no longer be needed by the Court._

_Yours,_

"I can't make out the signature."

_'Tis all right, love. Get a look at the map next. Be sharp, now._

Billy flipped the letter, but the back and the second page were both blank. He glanced back at the heap of junk mail. There, beneath the envelope, was an ink-heavy paper in dark colors. He reached for it, but another hand picked it up.

Officer Goodfellow, now in civilian garb, smirked as he stuffed the map into the breast pocket of his unbuttoned long-sleeve shirt. "You can't fool the Fool," he said, and Billy felt a sudden chill from his toes to his skull, terrified. "I can see right through you, boy. Don't you know breaking and entering is against the law?"

He turned, slamming into the wall in his haste, and flung open the door to the garage. He ran past the car, tripping across lawn-care implements, and burst through the door to the street, leaving them both swinging in the wind behind him, with Scarah all the while in his head trying to talk him down.


	32. Chapter 32

"I wonder what part of the school we're under right now," Deuce said, glancing up at the catacomb's ceiling.

"So we have passed the portion with which you are familiar?"

"Yeah. Like, a while ago. Is that a ladder?" He hurried ahead, grasping the bottom rung of a rusted maintenance ladder, hoisting himself up.

"Who do you suppose left all this graffiti? It is _tres mysterieux, non?_"

"_Non_," Deuce said, grinning at her. "It had to be either adventurous Monster High students, or adventurous normies from New Salem.. hang on." Reaching the top of the ladder, Deuce lifted the heavy metal lid, peering out from beneath. "Oh, Rochelle. You're not going to believe this."

"What?" She hurried to the bottom of the ladder, trying to see around him. "What is it?"

He lowered the lid, descending to her, his smile wide and brilliant. "We're right in front of the high school."

"Oh, _non_." She shook her head, starting back. "We should go now, before we're seen."

"No!" Deuce took one of her hands in his own, startling her into hesitation. "Come on," he said, pulling her gently down the tunnel, further into the darkness. "I bet one of these leads up into the school itself!"

"They want nothing to do with us."

"Only because they don't know us! Come on, Rochelle. I've hung out with normies before - they're not so bad."

Still she resisted, hanging back, and he paused, looking at her.

"What is it?"

She held out her hands, struggling to find the words. "Deuce.. you are able to pass as a normie. You look very much like any handsome normie boy. But I cannot be anything other than what I am. If they see me.."

"Hey." He stepped close to her, tilting his glasses back on his head, giving her a genuine smile. "If they see you, then they should consider themselves lucky. You're one of the most beautiful monsters I know."

She stared at him for a long moment. Those gorgeous green eyes got her every time! "You are just saying that so I will follow you," she said, smirking, and he shrugged one shoulder.

"If you don't want to, then don't. We can turn around and go home right now, or we can solve this mystery. We're probably one of only a handful of monsters to ever see this part of the catacombs, you know? I want to come back with a story. Don't you?"

Rochelle shook her head, amazed. He slipped his glasses back on, arching one eyebrow at her, still grinning. "All right. All right. I do not know how you are so able to coax me into behavior against my better judgement, but.. yes. Let us follow this tunnel to its conclusion. And then we shall go, _oui_?"

"_Oui_," he said, linking one arm through hers, and they ventured further into the darkness together.


	33. Chapter 33

Keith lowered the chart, glaring at Brad over the top of the clipboard. "Could you turn that down, please? We didn't come here to watch TV, in case you've forgotten."

"Well?" Brad said, sneering, as he lowered the volume on the tiny TV above Daryl's bed. "It's not like we can talk with him."

"Did you even know what kind of state he was in?"

"I didn't know he was a vegetable." Brad poked at buttons on the side of Daryl's bed, lifting and lowering the upper half, then tired of it and slumped into a chair.

"Says here he broke the upper part of his jaw, as well as his nose, suffered second-degree burns to most of his left half, and that nasty scratch." He returned the chart to the bottom of Daryl's hospital bed, sighing down at his friend. "Poor guy."

"Yeah, those weirdoes messed him up good. You hungry?"

Keith frowned. "I don't know how you can think of food at a time like this."

Brad shrugged, unaffected. "Need fuel, man. Had practice this afternoon, you know? I need carbs. Come down to the cafeteria with me. This place is creepy alone."

"Fine. Just be quick, OK? I want to be here in case he wakes up."

"He's not going to wake up. He's, like, in a medical coma, or something."

Keith rolled his eyes. "He's sedated, Brad. It's not the same thing."

The cafeteria wasn't far, and it wasn't impressive. Together they stared at the gelatinized slices of cake and oddly shiny slabs of granular meatloaf. The tired-looking woman behind the cash register watched them with expectant boredom.

"Uh," Brad said, and snatched a bag of Fritos off the snack rack by the register. "This and a frozen Cherry Coke, lady."

She grunted, punching keys, and looked at Keith.

"Same," he said, although he didn't want anything like that at all.

Nodding, she hit a few more keys. The register chimed and she held out a hand.

"Seven dollars?" Brad said, snorting. "I've got three. What have you got?"

Keith sighed. "I'll cover it. Don't worry." He paid the lady, dropping the change in the little tip jar beside the register, and they turned to get their drinks.

Walking down the hall moments later, Brad said, "Daryl and I used to go get frozen Cokes at the corner store on Saturdays, when his dad was at work. Then we'd go to the park and throw pop-caps at the pigeons. Sounds pretty dumb, I know, but it was fun for us."

Keith found himself grinning. "I don't have any pop-caps, Brad."

"Damn."

They came around the corner, and Brad swung open the door to Daryl's room.

"It's so quiet in here," Keith said, or rather, started to say, but the words froze in his throat as he spotted a short kid squatting atop Daryl's prone form in the hospital bed, holding a pillow against the boy's face. He could suddenly hear the dull droning beeps from the various machines monitoring Daryl, and the frantic shouting from the nurse's station in the hallway.

Brad lunged for the bed, dropping his snacks, which scattered across the floor behind him. He caught the creep. They slammed against the far wall, against the window, which opened out an inch or two under the pressure of their bodies.

Nurses pushed past Keith. He still stood, frozen, trying to process everything at once, as they rushed to the bed and called for an emergency tech. One of them started to give Daryl CPR, in what struck Keith as a gesture of pure optimism, or flat-out defiance of the technology screaming all around them.

Brad's punches seemed not to daunt the kid. Weird laughter bubbled out of him. His small, angular hands reached up and grabbed at Brad's upper arms. He stopped punching, instead grabbing the kid's coat, using it to slam him against the hospital floor.

Keith found the ability to move. "Brad," he said, sliding to his knees beside his friend. "Stop. You're killing him."

The emergency tech arrived with the cart, and several nurses turned to Brad, trying to separate him from the bloodied boy on the floor.

"He deserves it," Brad said, panting, his eyes wild. He allowed the nurses to pull him back, but his rage wasn't spent.

Free, the smaller boy's hands crept up to the window sill. Brad still held his coat, ready to pull him close, ready to hurt him worse. Then the nurses turned at the crackling sound of the paddles, and the sudden electronic shriek from the monitors; and in that instant the boy transformed into a robin and flew out the window.

Brad stared at the coat in his hand, while Keith stared out the narrow gap in the window. Neither were able to speak.

The tech attempted to revive Daryl a second time, then shook her head, shoulders drooping. "Sorry. He's gone. Call it."

Brad pushed the coat at his friend, and Keith read the logo on the sleeve, with its stylized 'shredded' pattern: MH. He looked up at Brad, still lagging.

"It's them. We're gonna kill 'em."

Keith nodded, looking out the window again, knowing he'd have to make a trip back to Monster High to figure out this mess before Brad tried to solve it with his fists.


	34. Chapter 34

Deuce pulled his weight against the grate once more, then stood back, his breathing heavy. He shook his head. "It's right on the other side, I know it. I just can't.."

"_Pardonnez-moi_." Rochelle seized the grate with one claw, wrenching it sideways. It tore free with a scream, rusted screw-heads pinging to the tunnel's stone floor, and she tossed it aside. Beyond, a narrow box-shaped tunnel lead towards dim light and the sound of running water.

"Uh.. ladies first," Deuce said, giving her an uncertain half-smile, impressed and a bit embarrassed.

"I am not sure that I could fit."

Deuce shrugged. "Has anyone ever told you you've got a really terrible self-image? I'm sure you can. Go on."

Rochelle leaned into the opening, peering down the tunnel. Wrapping her wings tight to her body, she crept forward, the metal scraping against her stone shoulders and knees with a squeal of protest.

"You are following, _oui_?"

"_Oui_," Deuce said, snakes hissing, unhappy with the cramped quarters.

"It is not much farther."

Beneath her, the metal made a dull thud as it popped out of shape. She moved faster, reaching the end of the tunnel, and gently pushed the grate out of her way. It fell to the floor with a loud clanging sound as she climbed out of the duct. She stood in a women's room, Sharpie graffiti on the walls, the ugly green stall paint peeling. One of the sinks leaked badly, water dribbling down the drain. She stepped aside, checking her hair in the mirror while Deuce left the duct.

"Girls' room," he said, a grin of approval on his face. "Sweet."

"Shhhh."

He turned to the doors and gave them an experimental pull. They didn't move. He spotted the lock, and gave it a twist. "There's no one here, Rochelle," he said, pulling the doors open to show her an empty, darkened hall lined with lockers.

She peered out the doors, uncertain. "So it is you and I.. _seulement_?"

He nodded. "_Seulement_. All alone."

She stepped out into the hall, hesitant, scanning the corridor. "It is so dark and creepy. Our own school is not this dark."

Deuce followed, nonchalantly knocking open a partially-shut locker door. "Well, we usually have students at all hours, so.." He picked up a sock hat flopped over the locker's top shelf and slid it over his snaky hair. "Just in case," he said to Rochelle, who watched with a faint smirk on her face.

"Right. You are not worried, eh?" She stepped close, tucking a few loose strands under the cap's edge, then blushed and moved away.

"If we see anyone.. can you fly with those?" He indicated her stone wings.

"_Non_. Not really. They are mostly for show."

"Well.. if we're spotted, just.. stand still."

Her smirk grew; she cast a sidelong glance at him. "You do not think the normies will see anything odd with a gargoyle appearing in their school halls in haute couture from Scaris?"

"Oh, right." He stood back, rubbing his chin as he thought, looking her up and down. "Your kind are usually.. uh.."

She put her claws on her hips, cocking her head. "_Oui? Au naturel, n'est-ce pas?_"

Deuce shrugged. "Well, if you want to look convincing.."

They both paused at the sound of voices. At the far end of the hall there was movement. Rochelle drew back into the doorway while Deuce stepped up towards the hallway intersection, trying to look nonchalant, leaning against a locker.

Footsteps came down the hall, unhurried.

At the intersection, there was the sound of jingling keys, and a tiny red light appeared. The beam spilled over the tip of Deuce's shoes, following his leg up to his chest and then his face. He offered a smile. "Yo."

"Yo yourself. Nobody comes down here. Who are you?" The little red light went off, and the jingling keys were audibly shoved into a pocket. Rochelle could just see the girl's outline, contrasting against the deeper darkness down the hall. "Hang on, you look a bit familiar. Do you know Jackson?"

Deuce leaned forward, scowling. "Clair?"

"Yeah, it's me! Boy, are you lucky I'm the one who found you. Nobody uses this bathroom anymore but me."

"What are you doing in the school at night?" Rochelle said, stepping out from the doorway. "Is it not closed?"

Clair turned, startled, then brushed past Rochelle into the bathroom. Deuce followed, shutting the door behind himself as Clair flicked on the lights. The room filled with a sickly blue-white light from the fluourescent bulbs above the sink. "There's a drama club rehearsal going on downstairs. I refuse to use the bathrooms down there; they get the most traffic and are therefore the most disgusting. This is like my private bathroom. See?" She pointed to a rectangular scribble on one of the stalls: 'Property Of Clair Voyant. GET OUT.' "I just wanted to fix my makeup. What are you doing here?"

Rochelle and Deuce exchanged a glance, then she pointed to the loose grate on the floor while Deuce at the same time said, "We were exploring in the catacombs and, uh.. figured.. somewhere along the line it had to lead here."

Clair nodded, pulling various makeup tools from a small pocket-sized pouch, peering at herself in the mirror. "Yeah, those old tunnels lead everywhere under this town. There's even an old school they paved over. At least, that's what the rumors say. I don't know for sure." She applied a layer of mascara, blinking, then scowled at her reflection. "This grate leads directly under your school?"

"Well, you have to walk for a while, but yeah. Pretty much." Deuce checked the door, then removed his cap. "Rochelle, this is Clair. She's a friend of Jackson's. We met at a Halloween party last year. Clair, Rochelle, an exchange student from Scaris."

Clair gave her a wave, eyeing her in the mirror with a tiny smile. "_Bonsoir_. Listen, rehearsal's going to be over in an hour or so. I advise you two to be gone by then. The whole town's nuts right now; it's safer for you underground, trust me. Probably safer for me, too."

Deuce looked sidelong at Rochelle. "I don't know about you, but I'd really rather not crawl back into that tunnel if I can help it. How do you feel about taking surface streets?"

Rochelle shook her head, crestfallen. "I am sorry, but I do not think -"

"You can borrow my coat," said Clair, stepping into the largest stall to retrieve a long black coat from its hook. She tossed this to Rochelle, then stepped forward, brushing the girl's pink and blue hair over the tips of her ears. "There. You're passable."

"How do we get out of here?"

"Take the stairs at the end of the hall, back the way I came. They'll lead you up to ground level. Take a left at the top, go around the main offices, and there's the front door. You won't even run into anyone - all my fellow drama geeks are in the gym, arguing over the proper interpretation of lines from our production of 'The Monsters are Due on Maple Street'. I get to be Sally. Yay, me."

Rochelle looked at herself in the mirror, flattening her wings tighter against her body, wincing in discomfort. She pulled the coat closer across her chest, slicing off a button with one claw. Clair watched it ping to the floor, a look of alarm on her face, then shrugged.

"It's an old coat. Don't worry too much."

"_Merci_," said Rochelle as Deuce replaced his sock hat and opened the bathroom door, peeking out into the hall. "How can I return it to you?"

"Oh, just hand it off to Jackson. I'll get it back from him." She blushed, realizing what she'd said, and stammered, "I mean, uh, he'll - I can -"

Deuce smirked, raising an eyebrow at her. "All right. Thanks, Clair."

"Yeah. Hey, no problem. Good luck." She waved, turning back to the mirror, lipstick in one hand. "Be safe, guys."

"I do not like this," Rochelle said as they walked down the stairs. She struggled to keep the coat closed. He noticed her eyes were wide and she kept scanning the area, alert, almost paranoid.

He put one hand on her arm. "We'll be fine. Just stick close and move fast, OK?"

She glanced at him with gratitude, smiling, and he smiled back.

They reached the top of the stairs, into an L-shaped hallway, and turned to the left. Rochelle put one hand over Deuce's as they entered the hall before the main offices. The double doors were yards ahead, the hall lined with glittering trophy cases and framed photographs. She looked into them as they passed, curious. Most of the trophies were for sports accomplishments, and in the team photos, she recognized the faces of the three boys who had come onto campus the week before and attacked Clawd. A corner of one display case had been re-arranged to make a shrine for one of them - the smiling, unbroken face of the boy who had smashed into her fist. She stared at it as they passed, the flowers decaying around his image, the golden statues gathered in his honor.

Deuce pushed one of the doors open and held it, following Rochelle out into the chilly night, hands jammed into his pockets. She groaned under her breath, wings shifting beneath the black coat.

"I know," he said, grinning at her. "I'm going to have such a migraine later, it's not even funny."

"How long do you think it will take?"

He shrugged, moving closer to her, the steam of their breath commingling as they walked. "Half an hour. An hour, tops. Just.. one foot in front of the other. I'll handle any interference."

"_Merde_," she said, turning away, as two students crossed their path towards the parking lot. They cast a curious glance at the pair, but continued talking to one another, stepping around Deuce and Rochelle as they passed.

He patted her arm. "Relax. You're shaking."

"I am not afraid. I am.. what is the word.. furious. My kind have protected them for centuries, yet if they found me here, now.."

Deuce nodded. "Don't worry. We'll be back on our own turf before you know it."

They crossed the parking lot. Halfway across the expanse of asphalt, a beaten-up black truck roared into the lot, screeching sideways into a spot next to the wall, and two students hopped out. Rochelle's grip on his arm tightened.

"What is it?"

"I know them. They are the boys who came to our school last week."

Deuce glanced back at them, nonchalant. "Wonder what they're doing here at this hour."

"Let's go," Rochelle said, pulling at him, her tone pleading. "Let's go now. _Rapide_."

"Yeah." They checked for traffic, jogging across the street, and Deuce watched the two students enter the school, sighing with relief.

"They will be back. We must hurry."

"You're being pa -" Deuce gasped, stumbling backwards. He toppled to the sidewalk with a thud, glasses clattering away. Rochelle knelt and he took her hand, pulling himself up. "What the hell?"

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry."

Rochelle scowled at the area just beyond Deuce. "Invisi Billy? What are you doing here?"

"Running for my life. I can't really explain. Can I go with you guys? I'm a little turned around right now."

"Get my glasses, would you?" Deuce said, one hand covering his eyes, and Rochelle looked into the grass along the sidewalk.

"Here," said Invisi Billy, retrieving the glasses, and Rochelle handed them to Deuce just as the doors to the school opened once more.

"It's them. Come on."

"Well, hang on a minute, I've got to -"

She gave him a pull, impatient, and they hurried along the sidewalk. Deuce stumbled, trying to replace his green-lensed glasses and keep up at the same time.

Rochelle heard a tearing sound followed by Invisi Billy's apology. She turned, pulling the tail of Clair's coat from under Billy's feet, cursing.

"They've seen us," he said, then, "We can't go this way. The police department is at the next corner."

"What? We'll just walk past it. No big deal."

Billy faded in beside Deuce, shaking his head. "Let's go the other way. Let's cross the street, and go the other way."

"_Non_." Rochelle looked back; the boys had returned to their black truck, and it sat at the edge of the parking lot, growling, the indicator blinking in their direction. "They are following us. We must be calm. Billy, choose to be here or not, but stop being in-between."

"Sorry." Billy vanished, his footsteps still apparent in the grass alongside Deuce. "I'm still here."

Rochelle checked the tail of the coat. It was a bad tear, but she felt sure one of her friends would be able to fix it.

The black truck rumbled up the road, going slow. It drew up alongside them. Rochelle tried to ignore the sensation of being stared at.

The truck turned in front of them, cruising in a circle around the parking lot of a gas station before sliding into a spot beside the gas pumps. The driver got out, jogging inside. Again, she ignored the feeling of eyes watching as they passed the station. Deuce's hand slid into her own, squeezing, and she managed to give him a tight, not wholly sincere smile.

"There's the station," said Billy.

"How much further is it?"

"Forty-five minutes or so. Past the station, there are a few convenience stores, some residential spots, and then it gets woodsy and the road gets.. old. Then we're pretty much home free."

Deuce turned, watching the truck. The driver was re-fueling now, his head turned, but from the passenger's side seat the larger of the two stared at them, his eyes squinty and unkind.

"Rochelle," Billy said, his voice small. "We.. we need to hurry. Like, a lot."

"_Por quoi_?"

"Your coat. Your wings are.. coming through."

Deuce slowed, glancing across the street, eyeing the back of Rochelle's coat. "He's right. We need to move, now."

Behind them, the driver's side door slammed, and the black truck roared to life, belching exhaust like smoke.

They heard Billy run past them, crossing the driveway, but the black truck cut them off before they could follow. From the driver's side, two teenage boys smiled down at them, distinctly predatory. "Hey.. you guys go to New Salem?"

"_Non_," said Rochelle. "We are visiting my cousin."

"Oh yeah? What's her name?"

She looked at Deuce. "Melissa," she said, recalling the name of another gorgon in an old story.

"What grade is she in?"

"None of your business," Deuce said. "Come on, Rochelle, let's go."

The driver frowned at her. "You look really familiar."

"I'm afraid you must be mistaken. Good night, boys." She hurried around the back of the truck, Deuce at her side, not flinching when the truck's reverse lights came on and it growled towards her.

"Wait a sec," said the boy in the passenger seat, and the two bickered for a moment.

"Run," she said. Deuce turned, watching as the truck roared backwards into the gas station lot, sliding into a parking spot, and the two boys leaped out.

"Hey, Rochelle!" called the larger one. The other was on his phone, clutching it against his ear as they jogged.

"I'm not running," Deuce said, when she gave him a push. "If I have to stone these guys, I will."

"Deuce, no." Rochelle pulled her arms out of the coat, flinging it at him. "That would only make things worse."

They crossed an empty side street, eyeing the police station, the students shouting behind them.

"Go ahead," she said, sprinting up the steps of the police station, wings fluttering. She vaulted up onto the roof, crouching, and drew back into the darkness, almost invisible.

Deuce turned around. He could see a few brightly lit convenience stores ahead, interspersed with cozy-looking houses, just as Billy had said.

"I'm here," said Billy, at his side, panting. "I think that one boy is calling the cops, so let's pick up the pace, huh?"

He took a deep breath, lowering his head, and broke into a run.

"Hold up," called the boy, his voice stern and annoyed.

A couple of officers came out onto the steps, and the other student jogged up to speak with them.

Deuce looked back, and saw Rochelle jump from the police station roof to the roof of a neighboring house, using her wings to slow her descent. She followed, keeping speed with him, and a few yards back, the larger boy followed as well, shouting.

"Go on," said Billy. "I can't.."

He crossed the street, passed a convenience store, and ran onwards into the welcome shadow of a small Colonial with a wrap-around porch, where he paused for a moment to catch his breath.

There was a thud above, followed by another thud, then a string of curse words in French and a skipping, scraping sound. Deuce backed out of the shadow thrown by the house as roofing tiles crashed into the rose bushes around the porch. He caught a glimpse of Rochelle, crouching on the roof, breathing hard, searching for the boy who had been chasing them.

He found Deuce first, slamming a fist into his shoulder, knocking him sideways a few steps. Deuce turned to face him, annoyed. "Why'd you run?" the boy said, panting, his face ruddy. "I just wanted to ask some questions."

"I don't think you'd like our answers."

"Who's this Melissa chick? Is she a junior?"

Deuce shook his head. "Man, I don't know. What do you care? Just let us go."

He wiped his nose on the sleeve of his letterman jacket, frowning. "Thing is, I think you're lying. I don't think you're visiting a cousin at all. I think you're a couple of spies from that damned monster school."

Deuce opened his mouth, about to respond, when Rochelle leaped off the roof, gliding down at an angle, and landed directly in front of the boy, stopping the punch he'd been about to throw into Deuce's stomach with her own stone flesh. Enraged, he drew back, and she endured the painless punches he threw at her with an expression of superior boredom and mild confusion.

"Go!" Billy shouted, appearing at Deuce's side, and they ran for the foggy darkness two streets beyond, where the road ended at a pair of concrete blocks. "There's a cruiser back there, lights on - get past the barrier, Deuce, or they're going to grab us."

He swore, sprinting across the street, through the brilliance of a streetlamp, skirting another block of residential homes. The concrete barrier between this world and his own was now less than a dozen yards away, but he could see and hear the cruisers now, approaching from either side and one behind.

Billy stepped out into the road, shouting, and the cruiser coming up behind them screeched to a stop, swerving to avoid hitting him. Officers burst out of the car, weapons drawn, as Billy raised his hands.

"I'm unarmed. I have no weapons."

"Get down. Keep your hands up. Don't move!"

Deuce crossed the street in the confusion, glancing back to see Rochelle's silohuette against the harsh fluourescence of the convenience store lights. He hopped over the concrete blocks. An officer closed handcuffs on Invisi Billy's wrists, shouting directions to his fellow officers, while another read to Billy from a card in his wallet.

Safely across, Deuce turned around, walking backwards. Here the road was unpaved, unused, it seemed, and surrounded by tall and ancient trees. He'd never come this way. He watched Billy disappear, leaving the officers shouting in confusion. Rochelle swept down from her perch, dusting the tops of the cars, their lights reflected across her body in the air. She rolled over the concrete blocks as the officers opened fire, their shouting intensified.

Billy appeared in the middle distance, jogging, laughing and hooting in glee. His hoodie bore damp semi-circles of sweat.

Deuce moved towards Rochelle as the officers came towards the barrier, ready to overtake them. She waved, motioning him away, but he ignored her. The humans swarmed over and around the concrete, and he broke into a run. An officer turned to Rochelle, his gun held out, and Deuce took off his glasses.

"Hey!" They started to turn, and like a wave rolling over the beach, as their eyes met his, each transformed from flesh and blood to a statue of grey-hued granite. The last few, seeing his effect, tried to run, but when they looked back at him it took them anyways, solidifying their flesh, rooting them in place.

She stood, frowning at him, and they regarded one another.

"I didn't know what else to do," he said, and she shook her head.

"If they shot me, what would be the worst? So I get a little chipped. So I bear a scar."

He began to replace his glasses, but she took them, staring into his eyes. "They'll be fine soon," he said, at a loss.

She nodded. Time stretched between them; the sound of police sirens and the revolving red and blue lights surrounded them.

"Come on!" Billy called, lost in the fog somewhere ahead, his voice echoing.

"You must be getting home," she said, handing back his glasses. "I am sure your mother will be worried."

"Yeah," he said, looking back at the row of officers behind them before he replaced his glasses and followed her into the fog. "Man.. she's never gonna let me live this one down."


	35. Chapter 35

Clawdeen left the bathroom, brushing her hair, as her mother bellowed up the stairs, "Clawd Wolf, you get down here this instant!"

She glanced down the stairs. Men in uniform stood on the porch; she could just see their shoes and the legs of their pressed pants. They smelled like stale coffee and fear.

"Actually, ma'am," one of them said, apologetic, "it's not your son we're here to see."

Clawd bumped into her where she stood by the railing, hurrying down the hall. He paused in the act of putting on his shirt, and they exchanged a look: _Was it you? Wasn't me this time._

A moment later, Mom's voice came up the stairwell a second time, less forceful and with a hint of anxiety to it. "Howleen! Get your butt downstairs, now!"

"Ooh," Clawd said. "Somebody's in trouble."

Howleen elbowed him as she stomped between them, glowering. "Shut up. I didn't do nothin'. Coming, Ma!"

Clawdeen sniffed, memorizing the scent of the officers, and looked over at Clawd as their little sister descended the stairs. "New Salem police, Clawd. What do you think?"

* * * * *

"Frankie? Hon?"

She turned at her mother's delicate knock on the door. "Just a sec, Mom. I'm almost ready to go."

"No, honey, it's not that. It's.. uh."

Frankie looked up, her backpack in one hand, doing a brief check of her jewelry with the other: earrings, bracelets, necklace. In the doorway, her mother and father both stood straight and stiff, ill at ease.

"What?" she said, alert and frightened. "What's happened? Is everything all right?"

Her father cleared his throat. "There are some officers here from New Salem, dear. They'd like to take you to the police station to ask you some questions."

Frankie looked from her mother to her father, puzzled. "Well, all right," she said, slinging her bag over one shoulder, "but they'll have to be quick, or else I'll be late for school. I've got this project due in Home Ick today and I really can't -"

"Frankie," her father said, as her mother pulled her into an unexpected and intense hug. "I don't think you understand. They're here to arrest you."

She couldn't respond; her mother's squeezing grip was too tight. Once Mom let go, Frankie gasped, "Me?! But.. that's ridiculous! I haven't.."

"They're in the parlor now. Come on. We can't keep them waiting."

"I'm sure this is all some kind of misunderstanding," she said, half to herself, but she couldn't help feeling a cold knot of fear form in her stomach as they left her room.

* * * * *

Heath slid into his seat, leaning sideways to look back a row at Abbey. "How was your weekend, hot stuff?"

"Meh. Was the usual."

"Yeah, me and the guys hit up some hotspots in New Salem, you know.." He propped his feet up, tipping back in his chair. "Really gave those normies a run for their money. It's dangerous, right, but somebody's got to do it. Monster pride!"

Beside him, Lagoona moved her notebook beyond the range of his feet, scowling. "Where do you suppose Mr Hack has gotten to? He isn't usually this tardy."

"If he's not here in ten, I'm leaving," said Heath, checking to see Abbey's reaction, but she seemed to be ignoring him, busy setting out her things for class.

"Forget him," said Clawd, "where's everyone else? Frankie's never late, and Draculaura's usually here before I am. Have any of you guys seen them?"

Lagoona looked to where Gil usually sat, frowning. "Suppose their parents kept them home? I know everyone's worried about the school now.."

The classroom door opened, and Scarah Screams entered, followed by Mr Hackington. She adjusted her dark hair, avoiding their eyes, and took her usual seat in the third row.

"Right," Mr Hackington said, bellowing despite the fact that the class was hardly half-full. "Seems there's been some changes to the schedule for today. Due to the school's low attendance rate, we're going to do some review of the material in Chapter Three. So if you could take out your books -"

Clawd raised a hand. "Mr Hack? Didn't we just finish Chapter Three last week?"

"Yes," said Hack, waddling around to sit behind his desk, "but I left all my coloring books at home, so if you'd rather not spend the period in detention, you'll do as I ask. Oh - one other thing. Burns, Bominable, Screams, get to the Headmistress's office, pronto."

"Score!" Heath picked up his bag, sprinting to the door, where he waited for Abbey while she gathered herself.

"Does this not strike you as suspicious?" Abbey said once they were in the hall.

"What?"

She gestured. "School is almost empty. Has never been so quiet. Frankie is missing, Draculaura, missing, Cleo, missing. You do not think it is strange?"

Heath shrugged. "It's still early. Maybe they're just running late."

"Not everyone as punctual as you, Heath Burns."

"Hey. I'm on time. Sometimes."

The door to the Headmistress's office stood open, and Heath leaned in, relieved to see Headmistress Bloodgood at her desk. She relaxed at the sight of him, slipping a long sheet of paper into the top drawer of her desk, and said, "Oh, Heath. Please, do come in. Are Abbey and Scarah with you?"

"Yes, ma'am." He took a seat, dropping his bag to the floor, and Abbey sat beside him, hands clasped in her lap. Behind them, Scarah lingered, fidgeting with her purse.

"Thank you for coming to see me so quickly. I realize it is an inconvenience to you and to Mr Hackington."

"No problem at all."

The Headmistress sat back in her chair, placing her head atop the desk. "Rochelle, please close the door for a moment. We must have privacy."

"_Oui, madame_."

Once the door had clicked shut, she leaned forward, intent on them. "New Salem police officers have come into our little settlement this morning, attempting to arrest several of our students. They allege over the weekend another student was killed. Do either of you know anything about this?"

"No," said Abbey. Heath shook his head, going pale.

Scarah started to cry, and the others startled, watching her. Rochelle found a chair and guided her into it, careful not to accidentally claw her.

"Well, I won't allow them to interrupt courses and disrupt what little order remains by arresting our students, but.. I felt you should know.. it is very likely the three of you will be taken in for questioning and possible arrest."

"Ridiculous." Abbey crossed her arms, annoyed. "Have not been to normie town since last Halloween."

"Me neither," said Heath, blushing under Abbey's sharp gaze. "Sorry, babe. Sometimes I talk a good game.."

"Regardless," said the Headmistress, eyeing Scarah's sobbing form, "I will not allow the officers on campus, but it's likely they are waiting for students to leave so they can make their arrests. I will leave it up to you whether you choose to finish out the day, or you would like to leave now. I think it makes no difference, academically, so I leave the choice to you."

Scarah took a deep, shuddering breath, standing from her chair. "Ma'am, before I go, there is something I must confess."

The Headmistress straightened, her face becoming a careful blank. "Yes, Scarah? What is it?"

"I sent Billy into New Salem, ma'am, to spy on that odd officer. I know it was wrong and I know it was dangerous. He could have been killed, ma'am, and I am aware how foolish it was, but.. you see.. I know he is nae what he seems."

"Scarah." Her voice was tight, stern, her hands clenched atop the desk.

But Scarah ignored her. "Goodfellow has a map, ma'am. Sure an I don't know what's on it, as Billy couldn't get close for a look, but I am sure it bodes ill for you. There was talk of the Court, and if my ma knows this man as she says she does, then that can only mean the Fey Court. He's as Unseelie as I've seen, ma'am. You can't help him. You're helping the Devil himself."

The Headmistress's eyes closed tight for a brief moment. "Scarah.. If I refuse to help, then I am setting us up for a direct confrontation with New Salem. Do you understand what that means? Do you have any idea how long it's taken for us to get normie-monster relations to this point?" She took a deep breath, straightening, and looked each of them in the eye in turn. "I am sorry to have to ask you to do this. You must trust me. You must go with them, and answer their questions, and go through their process. They will interpret any other behavior as a direct insult, or an attack, and that puts all of us at risk. Do you understand?"

Heath nodded, picking up his bag.

"And if you see Officer Goodfellow.." She looked hard at Scarah for a moment, then placed her head atop her neck with a twisting motion. "Tell him I request his presence at once, if you would."

"I'm going now," Heath said, as they walked along the empty hall. "No point in staying here. Maybe if I'm lucky I'll be back by dinner. Mom's making hot chili meatloaf tonight."

Abbey put out a hand to stop him, frosting the surface of the skin on his forearm. "I do not think you understand. This is.. how you say.. suicide mission. We are like sacrificial yak, following lead into the house of death."

"Sure, but we're keeping our friends safe by allowing it, right? I don't have a problem with that." He grinned. "Besides, Abbey, they're not going to kill us, right? Like they could! You and me, babe, we'll take 'em apart!"

She squinted at him, her brow knit in thought. Gradually a smile softened across her face. "People tell me you are stupid. I do not listen to them. Am putting away school things. You wait here."

"How about you, Scarah?" Heath said, as Abbey hurried back to her locker. The banshee looked up at him, her expression pained. "Are you coming with us?"

She shook her head. "I've yet to say farewell to Billy. I'll come, but.. later. I have a great many things to do before I give myself up to that lot."

Heath shrugged, feigning nonchalance, but as always, her words sent a chill down his spine. "All right. Cool. Whatever."

"Am ready." Abbey pushed open the doors to the school. "Let us go now."

"Bye, Scarah," Heath said, and she nodded, waving to them as Abbey followed Heath out into the courtyard.

"You are ready?"

"Am ready," Heath said, imitating her accent, and she gave him a gentle push. He linked his arm in hers, laughing.

"Am disappointed in you, lying about trip to New Salem. Do not have to lie to impress me. And other friends."

Heath shrugged. "I just wish my life was more exciting, you know? I want to be out there, doing stuff, but.. I'm not. It drives me nuts."

"Life is about to get little bit too exciting."

"Anything better than boredom."

The end of the lane through the courtyard approached, less than five yards distant now, and he slowed a bit, squeezing Abbey's arm.

"Will be fine," she said, giving him an amused smirk. "Will 'take them apart', as you say."

"Right." He laughed, but it was small and mirthless.

She stopped at the hedgerow separating the courtyard from the parking lot, turning to face him. "Must ask you favor."

"I'm listening."

"Promise you will not try to rescue me."

Heath sneered. "What? Of course I will! I'd do anyth-"

"No. Shush. You must promise, or I will not go. No rescue. Understood?"

He stared at her, standing with her arms folded across her chest, her expression severe and unsmiling. The difference in height between them was, at most, two inches, but at this moment she seemed to stand heads above him, glaring down, cold and implacable. "Right," he said, nodding, though it pained him. "No rescue. Gotcha."

She smiled. "Good. Now we go."


	36. Chapter 36

Cleo stomped one wedge-sandalled foot, fuming. "Daddy! This is not fair! My people need a leader. You have forced me to abandon them right when they need me the most!"

Nefera scoffed, rolling her eyes as she picked another grape from the vine in her hand. "I hardly think they miss your 'guidance', Cleo. Let's face it, you never were that good at commanding a presence."

"Shut it, Nefera!"

"Girls," said their father, and both of them snapped to attention, eyes on the golden throne where his bandaged body reposed in shadow. "No more of this pointless bickering. Nefera, this conversation does not involve you. Leave us."

"But Daddy -"

"Leave us," he said again, and she scowled at Cleo, storming out of the sanctum in a huff. His sparkling blue eyes found Cleo, narrowing at her. "I commend your sense of responsibility to your chosen people, daughter, but I question where your true loyalty lies. Would it be wrong of me to assume you miss the social aspect, or is it something more? Perhaps one particular 'friend'?"

Cleo sighed, looking away, and seated herself on a chaise not far from her father. "If you mean Deuce, Daddy, then yes, I do miss him. But this is bigger. Those normies are a threat, and I know the students are scared. The Headmistress must be overwhelmed. They are looking for a leader."

He steepled his fingers, leaning forward. "In your absence, who will take up that role?"

"Well, worst case scenario, it'd be Toralei Stripe and her gang. They're brutal, conniving, clever, and selfish. They know how to exploit an advantage."

He made a sound deep in his throat, a rumble of pleasure, and she caught the flash of a toothy smile as he sat back. "A suitable opponent for my most clever daughter."

"Thank you, Daddy, but I'm not sure Toralei is organized enough to take charge of the whole school. She might seize parts of it - the seedy underbelly parts, most likely - but I don't think the werewolves or the vampires would follow her lead. She's reckless, and her selfishness is a weakness."

"Good. Who else is there to compete with you?"

Cleo paused, thinking. "Rochelle, but she's afraid to let monsters think for themselves. She's too much a protector. It would be too big a job for her. Ghoulia, but she has, shall we say, communication problems? There's Clawd, but the vampires despise him, even if they do admire his athleticism - "

"Think bigger, my girl. Who has led them in the past? Who will lead them now?"

"School president," she said, gasping to herself. "Abbey Bominable or.. or Slo Mo. Ugh! Daddy, I simply have to go back! They're going to be destroyed!"

"Calm yourself. This Abbey, she has managed the affairs of the school in the past, has she not?"

Cleo nodded. "But Daddy, she did a terrible job. She doesn't understand them. She wants to make them bend to her will, not.. well.." She blushed, catching herself, and said, "She doesn't know how to persuade, only how to use brute force. There's no elegance, no subtlety."

"And Slo Mo?"

"Oh, please. He's a zombie."

He grunted, nodding. "A common leader for a common people. I understand your position, daughter, and I respect your devotion. But you are my daughter and I will not see you hurt in this conflict."

"What?" Cleo rose from the couch, approaching the throne. "But Daddy -"

"It is between the common monsters and the common people of New Salem. Let them have their fight. Let them settle it. Then, you can return, triumphant, and declare your people victorious."

She paused, tempted by the thought, then rejected it with a toss of her head. "Forgive me, but that seems a cowardly way to handle this whole affair. Why not go back and help them directly?"

"Because I forbid it," he said, and she knew from his tone that there would be no more discussion.  
One bandaged hand stretched from the darkness. "Give me your cell phone."

"What? Daddy, I -"

"Give it."

She sighed, slumping onto the chaise once more, and dug through her handbag. "Oh, all right. When can I have it back?"

He accepted the tiny golden iCoffin, enveloping it in his hand, and drew it back into the shadows. "When the dust has settled from this pitiful battle. Then I will know it is safe to allow my most precious jewel back into the world."

She touched the jewel in her cheek, staring at him. His voice was honeyed and smooth, but she heard the threat and the reminder beneath it, and she felt the old fear stirring up again - darkness eternal, silence unending.

"Do not speak of this again in my presence," he said, and she nodded, not meeting his gaze. "Now.. go. I have business matters which require my attention."

"Yes, Daddy." Cleo rose, trudging out of her father's sanctum, and stood for a while in the hall, torn between despair and fury.


	37. Chapter 37

Deuce poked at the food on his tray, sighing.

"I know, right?" Across the table, Clawd bit into a cheeseburger with gusto, splattering ketchup and mustard onto the tray between his elbows. "It's like that time the girls went to Scaris."

"Yeah, except we don't know when they're coming back." He pushed the tray away, sulking. "How can you eat like that?"

Clawd licked his lips, blinking. "Dude, you know my gut and my brain aren't on speaking terms. Besides, I know what's going on with Lala now. Her dad's made her go nocturnal again."

"Ouch."

"Yeah. So I figure I'll just fang around the courtyard after dinner, and we'll catch up. With the school falling apart like it is, it's not like I have to make sure I'm well-rested for games or tests or anything."He took another bite of the burger, reducing it to a mouthful held in two fingers, and licked his claws. "It's actually kinda nice."

Deuce rolled his eyes. "Yeah. I guess."

"Uuhh!" Ghoulia slouched into the seat at his side, reaching into her pocket.

"Hey, Ghoulia. Looking for Slo Mo? I think he's out sick today or something." Deuce frowned, glancing around the cafeteria. "Come to think of it, there aren't many zombies here at all."

She nudged him, shoving her iCoffin towards him, and Deuce looked at the screen. The display showed an image of Cleo, and an active call. He put the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Deuce! Darling!"

He sat up, grinning. "Hey, Cleo! What's up?"

"Oh, it's perfectly wretched here. Nefera has been insufferable these past few days. Are you all right? You're not eating junk food, are you?"

"Uh.." Deuce gave the tray full of cafeteria food another nudge, and Clawd, eyeing it, snatched up his untouched burger with a muffled "Thanks!" "No. No junk food, Cleo. School's gotten weird, though. Like nobody's here. Um.. did you talk to your Dad?"

"About that. Listen, I need you and Ghoulia to do me a teensy tiny little favor. Do you think you can manage it?"

He glanced at Ghoulia, who smiled and nodded, giving him a thumbs-up. "Sure," he said, puzzled. "What do you need?"

"It's a little bit technical, so you might need Ghoulia's help.."

"Little bit technical," Deuce grumbled, plugging in the last of the A/V cables. "Ghoulia! You ready to rock?"

From the lighting booth above the clawditorium, Ghoulia groaned, nodding down at him.

Deuce scrolled through the contacts in his phone, dialing.

"Hey, you're on the air with Cupid. What's your problem, love?"

"Cupid. Hey, it's Deuce. Uh.. Deuce Gorgon?"

"Yeah, casketball team, I know." She laughed. "You guys got slaughtered on Friday."

"Right. Listen, are you broadcasting right now?"

"Nope. Headless Headmistress has declared radio silence until further notice. I'm actually studying for a trigular clawnometry test right now. Ugh."

"Great. Then you won't mind helping me out with a little problem?"

He heard a heavy book slamming shut and the squeal of Cupid's metal chair as she sat up. "Is it about your love life?"

"Uh.. kind of, yeah."

"I am at your service. What do you need?"


	38. Chapter 38

Clawdeen snorted awake, blinking, just as she felt something sharp zing against the back of one ear. She turned, glaring at Toralei and her lackeys, who giggled and pretended to ignore her.

"Gross." She'd dozed off and drooled all over one corner of her notebook. Clawdeen shoved it aside, flopping herself down atop her desk. Usually Home Ick kept her interested, but today Mrs Kindergrubber was just talking about the architecture of gingerbread houses, and she could hardly keep her eyes open.

"Attention! Attention." Cupid's voice rang out through the loudspeaker. "All students must report to the clawditorium immediately for an emergency meeting!"

"What?" said Kindergrubber, frowning. She waved her hands as students began to get up, gathering their books and backpacks. "Wait! That's not the Headmistress.. It could be a trick!"

"Oh, come on," said Clawdeen, rolling her eyes as she pulled herself together. "You're so Old World."

"Stop!" Kindergrubber tried, then, "Well.. don't eat anything they offer you!"

Clawdeen hustled through the doorway, merging into the sparse stream of students through the hall. She darted through traffic. The usual cluster of students around Gorey Fangtell's locker didn't exist, clearing up a four-yard stretch of hallway, creating a bottleneck at the intersection. She saw no zombies.

"Man, this place is becoming a ghost town," Clawdeen said, separating herself from the trickle of students and hurrying up a narrow staircase. Jogging past the sound & lighting booth on her way to the seats in the back row, she caught a familiar odor. She leaned into the open doorway. "Ghoulia? What are you doing?"

"Uuugggghh," said Ghoulia, grinning, and pointed down at the stage. A huge white screen covered the curtain. In the space between the stage and the seats, someone moved from one machine to another. Clawdeen spotted his reflection in a laptop screen as Ghoulia lowered the house lights and the room went hush.

Ghoulia turned to her laptop, typing. The white screen showed a brief image of a desktop background, then the notification of a new incoming call. Deuce stood back, half-closing the lid of the laptop, and Cleo's image burst onto the screen.

A murmur rippled through the gathered crowd.

She took a moment to compose herself, adjusting her already perfect hair and the neckline of her top. "Yes, hello. Good morning. Cleo de Nile here, but you already knew that." She paused, distracted by noise off-screen, and adjusted the camera's angle. "I'm afraid I'll have to make this quick. I've heard, through my loyal sources, that normie police officers are coming into our school, threatening our students, and actually arresting some of us. I ask you, what proof do they have? Have they given any reason for these heinous acts? More importantly, are we going to allow it?"

"Hell no," Venus shouted from her seat, and several other students cheered in agreement.

"The Headmistress might prefer that we 'go along' with this fascist regime. Certainly, from a political point of view, it makes things easier. But this is not a simple disagreement. This is political persecution of our kind. Why make it easy for them to destroy us? There is a list of names, a list of students who are expected to turn themselves in to the New Salem Police Department of their own free will. The list is held by the New Salem PD and, most likely, our own Headmistress. If your name is on the list, do not go quietly. You must fight! Do not allow these normies to think they can kill us so easily!"

A ragged cheer went up in the audience, and Deuce lifted the lid of his laptop, typing.

"A second murder took place over the weekend," Cleo said, squinting to read Deuce's message, her heavy brows knit together. She sat back, frowning, hands folded in her lap. "If you know or suspect any of your fellow students, please confront them first before going to the Headmistress. Obviously she's leading with her head rather than her heart in this matter, or she would be considering how these arrests affect us, as a group."

She shifted in her chair, crossing one leg over the other, and examined her nails for a moment. "This is only the beginning. The arrests are the first phase. New Salem will choose a victim, and they will try to exact a sacrifice. This is unacceptable!"

"Wait a sec." Lagoona rose from her seat, frowning. "Do you think the murderer is actually here, in Monster High? Or do you think.."

"New Salem is just looking for a scapegoat," Venus said, finishing her thought. They looked at the screen, where Cleo sat, squinting.

"Who is that? Lagoona? And McFlytrap. Of course." She sat back, looking bored. "I believe New Salem is intent on finding someone guilty. It's irrelevant whether or not the murderer is among us; it is imperative that we protect our own, and try to uncover the truth without normie interference."

"That's vigilantism!" Lagoona said, while Venus fist-pumped the air with glee.

"No, that's taking responsibility for our own kind. Or would you rather they pick the victim? Do you think you'll escape their notice in the pool, Lagoona?"

"Now, now, ladies. Let's not make it personal. We must come together. We are all monsters here, andwe will protect our own." Cleo sighed. "I'm being told I have to wrap this up. While you are busy defending your school on the front lines - and believe me, I wish I could be there with you - I'll be busy gathering reinforcements for the battle that will inevitably result. New Salem is threatened by us. Show them they have every reason to be afraid. Stand together, and refuse them!"

Ghoulia cut the lights. The screen and the room went black, and Clawdeen stepped back as the room filled with the shouts of excited students. Deuce smiled, giving Cleo a thumbs-up in the light of his laptop monitor. The lights came back on, and she looked out over the crowd, bothered.

"No.. There's going to be a riot," she said, and Ghoulia cocked an eyebrow, smirking.

"Uuuuhhh?"

"I know she said 'defend the school, defend your classmates', but I think what some folks heard.." Clawdeen pointed to the front few rows, where Venus, Lagoona, and several hangers-on were engaged in a tense debate. "What some folks heard was 'bring the fight to the normies'."

Ghoulia dismissed the thought with a grunt and a wave, shutting down her laptop and closing down the lighting booth.

"You don't really think she's going to show up, do you?" Clawdeen followed Ghoulia out through the clawditorium and into the cafeteria. "Isn't she locked up at home with her dad?"

Ghoulia nodded, and they slid into a table. "Rraaauuugghhh," she said, setting her laptop aside.

Clawdeen shook her head, watching other students filter out of the clawditorium. The tension in the cafeteria felt thick; she caught the scent of anger and aggression in the air, and the fur on her neck rose. "I wish I shared your faith in Cleo, but I think maybe this was the worst possible thing she could have done."


	39. Chapter 39

"Ghoulia and I spent all of study hall, and an hour or two afterwards, trying to figure out who might be on the list. But when we tried to talk to the others, it just became a big fight." Jackson kicked at the damp concrete floor of the tunnel, frustrated.

"Fight?" Clair looked at him sidelong. "Like what? People want to seem tough and be on this hypothetical list, or they want to be innocent?"

He shrugged. "Both. We were trying to predict, as realistically as possible, which of us might be actual suspects. Ghoulia thinks they'd be reluctant to arrest anyone who actually looks abnormal, and I concur. They want to show effort without causing a panic. On the other hand, they did arrest one of the Wolf family.." He sighed, shaking his head, and ran one hand through his hair. "How about you? Things any better on your end of the spectrum?"

"Hardly. I'm glad you called; there's a guy I want you to talk to."

Jackson paused, recoiling. "Clair, I really don't want to go into the school.."

"Well, how do you propose we solve this then, Sherlock?" She turned to him, one hand on her hip, one eyebrow raised. "Look, this guy's cool, I promise. He's not going to be an ass."

"How can you be sure?"

She sighed, giving him a grin. "Because if he is, he knows what I'll do to him."

Jackson relaxed. Hurrying to catch up, he said, "You're a bully, Clair."

"No. I'm the hand of justice. There's a difference."

They trudged through the catacombs in silence for a while, the only sound the damp echo of their steps, the distant squeaking of rats, and the ever-present sound of moving water. As they passed the rusty ladder, Jackson looked up into the narrow beams of light from the street, uneasy, and said, "Tell me again how you found out about this entry."

Clair shrugged. "Deuce and that gargoyle girl came through here. I was at rehearsal. Can you believe Mr Burgess is making us put on a play, in the middle of all this? He says the atmosphere is ripe with dramatic tension right now, and we shouldn't refuse the chance for artistic commentary on the state of society. I swear, if he wasn't a drama teacher, he'd be one of those 800 number psychics or something."

"What's the play?"

She spotted the grate, still laying crumpled on the tunnel floor, and hurried forward, slogging through a narrow creek of trickling rainwater. "You wouldn't know it. It's an old episode from a TV show." She turned from examining the claw marks on the grate, smirking. "Why? You thinking of showing up?"

Jackson shrugged, going red. "Maybe. I might be. When is it?"

Clair sighed, feigning annoyance, and crawled into the duct. "Friday," she said, and her voice echoed back at him. "Eight o'clock. Come on, it's a tight squeeze but it's not impossible."

He watched from the mouth of the ductwork, still red in the face and getting redder.

She paused. Her sigh echoed, metallic in tone. "Please tell me you're not standing there staring at my butt."

"Uh," he said, and crawled into the duct. "No, I was.. I was just.."

"Come on. You could at least be honest about it."

"OK. Sorry."

"Oh yeah. I'm super offended." Clair grunted, shoving aside the broken grate, and slid out into the abandoned girls' room. She landed on her shoulder, rolling away from the duct, and stood. Jackson took the hand she offered, climbing awkwardly out of the narrow gap. She looked hard at him, shaking her head. "You're still blushing."

"I said I was sorry."

"No. Look." Clair scowled at him. "You don't need to apologize. You.. you should.."

Jackson stared, uncomprehending, then said, "Now you're blushing."

"Shut up."

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

She frowned, chewing her lower lip, then said, "OK, first of all, be honest. Don't lie to me. That's rule number one. Got it?"

Jackson nodded. "Sure. Yeah."

"Number two.." Clair straightened, not looking him in the eye. "Looking at my butt is not an insult, right? So don't act like it is. You can even tell me, you know, why you were looking. If you want to. You don't have to." She glanced at him, then away, walking towards the row of sinks, pretending to fix her hair.

He stood for a long moment, unsure. He cleared his throat.

"Well," she said, shrugging, and turned back to him. "I know you're probably not comfortable with that, and that's OK, too. Come on. Keith's waiting for us."

She pushed past him, opening the door out into the hall, and he followed.

The halls were packed with students. Jackson kept an eye on Clair's dark form, following as she wove through the crowds. They went up a flight of stairs, down a narrow brightly-lit hall, past a series of classrooms.

"What?" she said, slowing to walk beside him. "You keep looking into the rooms. What's up?"

He adjusted his glasses, scowling in thought. "My school is almost deserted. Parents are going nuts, keeping their kids home, even going so far as to suggest leaving the state or the country. How come all of the New Salem students seem.. I don't know.. unaffected?"

"Oh." She gave him a sarcastic smile, holding open the door of the school library. "Don't you know? We're already on the winning side."

The librarian gave them a quick once-over, then turned back to her work, her expression sour. Several students at long tables near the front glanced up at them. Clair led him through the stacks to the rows of narrow study desks in the back of the room.

"Keith? Are you here?"

In the second row of desks, Jackson saw the top of someone's head turn, ducking down. He pulled at Clair's sleeve, pointing. She seized the chair from a nearby desk, dragging it along, and they walked along the second row, checking each desk.

"Keith?"

"Shhh." A hand reached over the divider between two desks, gesturing for them to stop. She hesitated, more out of surprise than anything else. "The fish barks at midnight."

Jackson and Clair exchanged a look. "Keith, I'm not doing your stupid spy stuff, OK? I brought the guy I told you about. Quit being a jerk."

Keith looked at them, dark eyes darting from one to the other, then hid behind the divider again. "The fish barks at midnight. I'm not talking unless you give me the access code."

Clair sighed. "Seriously? What are you, twelve? All right. Uh.. The penguin has left the burrow. Satisfied?"

He slid his chair out from behind the desk, checking their surroundings. "Were you followed?"

"Yes. By this guy." She jerked a thumb at Jackson, then spun the chair to face Keith and motioned for him to sit. "Cut it out, Keith. We don't have time."

"I skipped Trigular Clawnometry class for this," Jackson said, settling into the chair as Clair borrowed another for herself and sat at his side.

Keith raised an eyebrow. He looked to Clair. "I thought you said this guy was a monster, not a genius."

She shrugged. "It's so easy to get them confused. Now tell him what you told me, about Daryl."

Keith nodded, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "My buddies Daryl and Brad and I came to the monster school last week, right after this whole mess started. Gary had been a friend of ours, and Brad was super mad. Wanted blood. OK, so Brad attacked that wolf kid, right?"

"Clawd," Jackson said, and Keith nodded, wincing at the name.

"Daryl got banged up a bit. He wound up in the hospital. Well, Brad and I went to visit him over the weekend, and, uh.."

Clair waited as Keith's breathing became heavy; he wouldn't meet their eyes. "Come on, Keith. He needs to know."

"Right. Uh." Keith looked up, his eyes narrow and sad. "Daryl died."

"I'm sorry," Jackson said.

Keith shook his head. "He was smothered. By that wolf kid."

Jackson sat back. He looked at Clair, realizing she was watching him for a reaction, and shook his head, reeling. "That's impossible."

"Look. I have proof." Keith turned, pulling his backpack out from under the desk. He unzipped it, removing the jacket left in Brad's hands, tightly wadded into a ball, which he handed to Jackson.

Jackson unfolded the jacket, hands shaking. "It.. looks like Clawd's," he said, running one hand along the distinctive sleeve pattern. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes, and bunched the jacket into his lap. "Tell me exactly what happened, from the time you arrived at the hospital to the time you left."

Keith looked at Clair, unsure. She nodded, and he explained the event in as much detail as he could.  
When he'd finished, Jackson sat for a long moment, silent, rubbing his chin.

"You believe me, don't you?"

He nodded. "Yes. Of course I believe you. I have some questions, though. You said the boy turned into a bird?"

Keith nodded, frantic.

"What kind of bird?"

Keith's eyes went wide. "I don't know, a fucking bird!"

"Chill," Clair said, glancing back behind them. "Not so loud."

Jackson set the jacket aside. "Brad attacked this guy, right? Where was he hurt?"

Keith paused, eyes lifted as he tried to remember. "I'm not sure, really. In the face, sure. The nose? The jaw? I don't know. He was all bloody, though."

He turned to Clair. "Can we talk to Brad?"

"Yeah," she said, making a face, "but I don't know why you'd want to. He's useless."

"Still. A second perspective might shed light on a few things."


	40. Chapter 40

Clawdeen slammed her locker shut, startled to see Clawd lounging against Draculaura's locker nearby.

"Hey," she said, sullen, and he gave her a brief wave, staring at his phone. She hugged her books to her chest, sidling up to him. "Whatcha doin'?"

He shrugged. "I've been texting Draculaura all day, and she hasn't answered me once."

"Well.. she's only up nights now."

"Yeah, but I haven't spoken to her since the game on Friday, and we kind of got into a fight." He sighed, shoving the phone into his pocket, staring up at the ceiling. "Have you seen her?"

"Nah. She was supposed to come fang out with us at the maul but she never showed." Clawdeen joined him, leaning against the lockers, and they stood in comfortable silence.

"I heard what you were saying," he said, eyeing her. "About Cleo?"

"Yeah? What, you wanna tell me I'm wrong, too?"

He put up his hands, rolling his eyes. "Don't get all defensive, sis. Jeez."

"Defensive? I'm right, aren't I? You're just bringing it up because you want to give me a hard time."

He stared at her, frowning. "Cleo's doing the right thing. Those people took our sister, Clawdeen. Or have you forgotten?"

"Me?" She scoffed. "Don't lecture me. You're busy mooning over your sad girlfriend while Howleen's stuck in jail. What are we supposed to do? Break her out?"

He raised an eyebrow, and she scoffed a second time, with less certainty.

"Come on. Seriously? What good would that do?"

He shrugged, shaking his head, and got to his feet. "Probably a whole lot more than standing around complaining and refusing to join the fight."

"Well, if you're so smart," she said, shouting at his back as he walked away, "why don't you go and start busting normie heads? That'd fix the whole problem, wouldn't it?"

"Maybe! I'm starting to think it's worth a try! What are you gonna do?"


	41. Chapter 41

Clair shut the gym door with a sigh. "OK, look. He's in there. We've got a few minutes between classes. Keith, why don't you take Jackson in and you can talk with him?"

Keith nodded, but Jackson took a step back, troubled. "You're not coming?"

"What?" Clair gave a short, unamused laugh. "Oh no. I'm not wading into that cesspool of testosterone, not today, thank you very much."

Jackson looked at Keith, then at Clair, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to form the right phrase.

Clair sighed. "Stop. Stop giving me the puppy-dog eyes. OK, fine, I'll go with you. But this had better be worth it."

Keith went ahead, crossing the gymnasium floor, as Clair and Jackson followed at a distance. The first two rows of bleachers held a handful of students, some of whom paused to get a look at the group. On the court, three young men in casual street clothes were engaged in a basketball scrimmage.

"Yo, Brad," Keith called, and Brad turned just as the ball hit the backboard and bounced off the rim in his direction. The other players groaned as it hit the court, and Brad looked around, annoyed. He jogged towards them, frowning.

"What? You see I'm busy, right?" He sneered at Jackson, giving Clair an intense once-over, and turned back to Keith. "What do you want?"

"Listen, uh, Jackson had some questions about the.. the thing with Daryl."

Brad raised an eyebrow, looking from Jackson to Keith and back. "So Keith told you what happened? Man, you've got some mouth on you, I swear. You gossip like a girl."

Keith reddened, looking away, and Clair crossed her arms over her chest.

Jackson cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses. "What happened to your hand?"

Brad scowled, looking down at his bandaged left hand. "Nothing. The hood of my car fell on it while I was doing some transmission work." He stared at Jackson, then at Keith. "You came here to ask about my hand?"

"No, no. I'm sorry, I was just wondering. Keith says the wolf boy turned into a bird. Did you happen to see what kind of bird?"

Brad's eyes narrowed. "The kind of bird that flies away after getting punched in the face ten times. Which one is that again?"

Jackson nodded, scratching his head, and cast a sidelong glance at Clair, who gave him a look that screamed 'I told you so'. "OK," he said, "can you tell me, uh, where you struck him?"

Brad stiffened. "You're not gonna rat me out, are you?"

"No. I just.. I'm curious, is all." Jackson frowned, intrigued. "Rat you out to who?"

He shrugged. "Cops keep coming around here, asking a lot of dumb questions. I figure if they heard I'd beat up some kid - even a murdering monster bastard like that wolf kid - they'd want to talk to me a whole lot more. Ain't got time for that." Brad chewed his lip, thinking. "Mostly the face," he said, after a long moment. "You know.." He put his bandaged fist up to Jackson's face, startling him a half-step back. "Here," he said, pressing his knuckles to Jackson's nose. "Here," at the chin, just under the bottom lip. "Here," on the cheekbone beneath the eye. Brad shrugged, grinning at Jackson's obvious discomfort. "The places that hurt."

Jackson nodded again, clearing his throat. "You seem to know a lot about facial anatomy and pressure points."

Brad frowned. "What?"

"The cops," Jackson said, feeling sweat gathering around his collar. "Have they been bothering you a lot?"

"Well, yeah. They've been bothering everyone. Right, Keith?"

Keith nodded, his eyes shifty, refusing to look at them.

Brad smiled at Jackson. "I bet they leave little Poindexters like you the hell alone, though, don't they?"

Jackson forced a small laugh and a smile. "Yeah. Lucky me."

"From what I hear, they don't like dealing with monsters, either." He made a face, looking off into the middle distance. "No big deal. We've got a plan of our own. Don't we, Keith?"

"What? Yeah. Yeah, man. Sure."

Jackson looked at Keith. The boy was red-faced, fidgeting, avoiding everyone's gaze. He turned to Brad. "What sort of plan?"

Brad squinted, then gave Jackson a toothy smile. "Let's just say, in a few days, those monsters will be sorry they ever messed with this school. They won't do it again either. Right, Keith?"

"Yeah. We're gonna mess 'em up." Keith touched Jackson's arm, herding him back towards the door. "So is that it? Anything else?"

"No," Jackson said, watching Brad for a moment before turning with Keith to leave. "That's all. Thanks for your time."

"Hey, Clair," Brad said. "You busy after that play? I'll take you up to Stormy's, get you a nice dinner. I can get you a beer. My buddy works there. You like that?"

"Hey, thanks, but no thanks. I have a personal philosophy against dating anyone dumber than my dog."

Brad laughed, but the sound was edged with anger. "I like a girl with sass and a nice ass like that. No, don't turn around, keep walking. Yeah."

Clair caught up to Jackson, fuming, red-faced. "See?" she said in a snarl. "I told you I didn't want to come in here."

He glanced back at Brad, watching the boy's predatory smile melt into a challenging stare, and turned back.

Keith ushered them through the door, and they stood in the hall for a moment, discomforted. "Well? Did you get everything you needed?"

"I think so. Are you all right?"

"What? Yeah." Keith wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, grinning. "I just.. you know, he just makes me more and more nervous, the angrier he gets."

"Couldn't you talk to a guidance counselor or one of the officers or something?"

Clair and Keith exchanged a look. "He's the vice principal's son," Clair said. "Not to mention captain of the football team. We could give them proof he's making bombs in chemistry class, and they wouldn't care. Listen, Keith - thanks a ton. We've gotta go. If anything happens.." She pulled a notepad from the messenger bag slung over one shoulder, scribbling, and tore the sheet off, handing it to him. "That's my cell phone. Do not let Brad see it. Call me if things get weird, OK?"

Keith nodded, staring, and shoved the paper into a pocket. "Sure. Yeah. Um.. thanks."

"No problem."

"Thank you," Jackson said, shaking Keith's hand before following Clair downstairs.


	42. Chapter 42

They passed through the school's front doors, emerging into afternoon sunlight.

"One thing I don't understand."

"Yeah?"

"Brad comments your, uh, rear, and you get upset. But when I do it.."

Clair sighed. "What he said was rude and offensive. He meant to make me uncomfortable with it. You haven't even said anything, so you're off the hook."

Jackson nodded, thoughtful.

"Listen. I've been thinking about the list," she said, and he nodded again. "There's a lot of paranoia and suspicion going around. That's why the cops keep coming back to talk to Brad and his idiotic buddies, but they only spoke to me and Chad, like, once. The problem is, nobody's going to calm down until they have absolute proof; and if they can't produce proof, they'll create it themselves, or imagine it and pretend it's true. Like your friend's jacket there."

"This is his jacket. I can't explain that."

"Maybe not, but can you explain why he doesn't have it, or how someone else might have gotten it?"

Jackson thought for a moment, then pulled out his phone. She could hear tinny, distant ringing. "Where are we going?"

"Police station. I figure we can get some information from them on this whole mess."

He glanced at her. "Clair, how much school are you missi - Hey, Clawd. It's Jackson. Uh, Jackson Jekyll? Hi. Listen, um.. I don't know how to say this. I found your jacket. Do you have a minute?"

Clair walked ahead, trying not to eavesdrop as she led him to the police station. They stepped inside, turning to the elderly woman behind the desk as Jackson said, "Well, apparently it was here. In New Salem. At the hospital."

"Excuse me," Clair said, and the elderly lady looked up from her newspaper, smiling. "Could we speak to one of the officers involved in the investigation of the recent murders?"

"Oh, my. Do you have information?"

"No. Sorry. Just a lot of questions." Clair offered a lopsided smile.

The lady nodded, picking up the phone handset. "Just a minute. Why don't you kids have a seat? An officer will be out in a moment."

They sat, and she noted the tension in Jackson's arm as she guided him to their seat.

"I don't know. I'm sorry. Look, have you been here? At all? ... I'm at the police station right now. ... No. Are you crazy? Of course I haven't been arrested. ... Yes, but this is me we're talking about, not him. Clawd, just tell me. ... OK. OK. Thanks. I'll call you back."

He hung up, putting the phone into his pocket, and leaned forward, rubbing his head.

"Hey. You OK?"

"No." He shook his head. "I have a splitting headache right now. This whole situation is making me so angry and stressed out."

Clair glanced at the desk. The elderly lady had lifted her paper, hidden behind it, her chair squeaking under her weight. She leaned close to him. "You're not.. I mean, you've got it under control, right?"

He gave her a baleful glance, then looked at his watch. "Yeah. I think so. I can make it a few hours, anyhow." Again he rubbed the heels of his hands against his forehead. "Just wish my head didn't hurt so bad.." He sighed, sitting back. "Clawd hasn't been here, and he says he couldn't find his jacket after the casketball game on Friday."

She nodded. "Then what made Brad and Keith think it was him they saw? I mean, Brad got a pretty up-close-and-personal look at him, right?"

"Yeah. That part I can't explain." He groaned, leaning forward, pressing his palms against his head.

The lobby door opened, and a tall, dark-haired officer stepped out. He smiled at them, kindly and reassuring, and took a seat opposite the two of them. "Afternoon. What can I do for you?"

Jackson squinted at the nametag on his shirt pocket. "Goodfellow," he said, and their eyes met.

The officer smiled, but it was a cold and empty gesture. "Have we met? You look awfully familiar."

"Uh," said Jackson, feeling his blood run cold for a brief second. "Yes, actually. I'm Jackson Jekyll. You interviewed me at Monster High. And.. and this is my friend, Clair. She's a New Salem student."

"Oh." Goodfellow sat back, surprised, and shook hands with each of them. "How can I help you folks?"

"Actually, we're here to discuss how you can help us." Clair smiled. "We heard there's a list of suspects, and we were wondering if we could get a copy of that list."

Goodfellow stared, then laughed. "Oh, no. No, I'm sorry, that's classified."

"Well, could you explain why you're making arrests at Monster High but not here in New Salem?"

"Oh, but we are." He smiled, toothy and insincere. "I'm sure it seems like Monster High is being targeted due to the small size of the school and the high visibility of our officers, but I assure you, there have been precautionary and disciplinary measures taken here in New Salem as well."

Clair nodded, unconvinced. "I heard one of your prisoners is a fourteen-year-old girl. Is that true?"

Goodfellow's face went blank. "Not that I know of, no."

"Howleen Wolf," Jackson said, an unusual edge to his voice. Clair glanced at him, watching him clench and unclench his fists atop his knees. "Can you explain why you're holding her prisoner here?"

He smiled at Jackson. "I'm not sure how familiar you are with werewolves, but they age much slower than your average human. A fourteen-year-old werewolf is equivalent to an eighteen-year-old human."

"Bull," Jackson said, and got to his feet. "I'm sorry, Clair, but I.. I think I need to leave. I'm not feeling well."

"How many New Salem students have you arrested, Officer?" Clair said, rising.

"I'm sorry. That's classified information."

"Really?" She reached into her bag, pulling out a newspaper. "In today's paper, a member of the New Salem P.D. was quoted as saying 'we've arrested almost a dozen monsters under suspicion of double homicide'. Are you telling me that's classified? Because, if so, someone should get fired for talking to the press."

Jackson coughed, choking, and Clair linked her arm through his.

"Now, if you'll excuse us," she said, flushing red under Officer Goodfellow's unwavering stare. "My friend is ill. Come on, Jackson."

Jackson shook his head. He turned to the officer, sneering. "You're a liar. And you should be ashamed of what you're doing."

"In times of war," Officer Goodfellow said, "no one is entirely innocent. I'm only trying to uphold the law."

"Whose law? Whose war, for that matter?"

"Come on," Clair said, giving him a gentle tug, and they walked out the doors onto the street. She sat with him on the steps as he wiped sweat from his forehead. "Are you sure you're all right? Do you need some water or something?"

Jackson shook his head, panting. "I'll be fine. I'm just overheated. Excuse me. I have to take off this vest." He pulled his sweater-vest off over his head, unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt, and fanned his reddened face with one hand.

Clair reached into her bag, producing a bottle of water, which he accepted with a murmured word of thanks. He drank half of it down in one gulp and sat, gasping for air, for a long moment more, elbows propped on his knees.

"Feel better?"

"A little. Thanks." He gave a shaky half-smile and got to his feet. "I need to get back. I don't think I'm going to make it until sunset after all, and, uh, having that happen now.. here.."

She nodded, walking alongside him back towards the school. "Yeah, that would be bad."

"Listen. I, uh.."

"This better not be mushy."

He laughed. "It's not, I swear. It's like the opposite of mushy. Solid. Those pants."

She cocked an eyebrow, smirking. "Those pants are solid?"

"They look good on you. They make.. uh.. they make your butt look nice."

"Oh." Clair fought not to laugh or look at him, not wanting to embarrass him further. Instead, she said, "See? That was a compliment. It was even a little flirty. Not bad. And thank you for noticing."

"Sure. Yeah. Sorry I didn't say so earlier."

"Hey.." She shrugged. "It's cool. I know how it is. Now it's my turn, right? So.. you look good without the vest. And even with your shirt unbuttoned a little. It's kinda sexy."

He stumbled, looking sideways at her. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me. Don't play dumb. Come on, we have to cross the street."


	43. Chapter 43

The Headmistress stared at the stack of papers in the inbox of her desk, slowly coming back to reality. She shook her head, blinking, and stood. "Students," she said, lifting the intercom microphone to her lips. "This is your Headmistress. I appreciate your cooperation with the recent changes in our school system. The Monster Elder Council and the Skullastic Superintendents have decided declaring sanctuary is the best way to stick out this difficult time, and I am deeply moved by your dedication to the strength of our community. Dinner will be served in the cafeteria in half an hour. Room assignments will be announced at dinner, so your attendance is, while not mandatory, strongly advised. Again, thank you for your cooperation."

She had been daydreaming of a time when the battle would be over, but it seemed further away now than it had been last week. Last week it was merely about finding a culprit; now, it seemed, they were on the brink of war, for no solid reason other than the fact that two young boys had died and the New Salem police hadn't found a better suspect yet. Her discussion with Ghoulia earlier in the day had done nothing to ease her mind, either. The zombie girl was convinced New Salem would be launching an offensive within the month, and spent an hour trying to convince her to ask the Elder Council for armaments and protection. She had refused, and spent every hour since then questioning her choice, wracked with uncertainty.

"_Madame_?" Rochelle peeked in the door. "The last of the dormitories is prepared."

"Remarkable. Thank you, Rochelle."

"_De rien, madame_. It is Wydowna you should thank. She has provided hand-woven blankets for many of our students, and on such short notice, too."

The Headmistress walked around her desk, sighing. "Remind me to send her a personal gift of thanks once this is over, Rochelle."

"_Oui, madame_. Are you attending dinner tonight?"

"Yes, I think I shall. I've been cooped up in that office for too long. I think I'll take the rest of tonight off and return in the morning, when I am fresh and relaxed."

"_Bon idee_. I think we could all use a bit more relaxation."

The Headmistress paused outside the door, removing a slender silver key from her pocket, and locked the door before following Rochelle down the hall towards the stairwell.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Holt slid up to the door and tested it. It remained locked. He pulled Jackson's library card from his pocket, wedging it between the door and the frame, trying to slide it up under the lock mechanism.

Within a few minutes he heard and felt the lock as it retracted, and pushed the door open. He made sure it shut behind him and the lock re-engaged. Checking the corners of the room for cameras, seeing none, he walked to the Headmistress's desk, pulling all the drawers open at once, leaving Jackson's bent card at the desk's edge.

He tossed through the side drawers, closing them when done. Nothing of interest, except a silver flask half-full of whiskey, which he considered pocketing but decided to leave out of pity for his beloved Headmistress.

In the top drawer, shoved to the very back, he found a trifolded sheet of paper with a long list of names, and Spectra's unmistakable purple phone.

A sound in the hall made him pause. He watched the doorway, nerves taut, but nothing moved. He slipped Spectra's iCoffin into his pocket, sinking into the Headmistress's chair with the folded paper and the microphone in his lap.

He unfolded the letter, scanning it, and licked his lips. He pressed the button on the mic. Speakers throughout the school clicked on, listening.

"Good evening, Monster High! It's Holt Hyde comin' to you live from none other than our own dear Headmistress's office. Boy, have I found something juicy for you tonight. Enjoy your dinner with this list of Monster High's very own Top Ten - er, make that Eight - Most Wanted Monsters. I'm not talkin' about romance, baby, I'm talkin' about blood!

"Number one with a bullet is my very own Frankie Fine. Firecracker's on the New Salem list because, get this, boys and ghouls, she's got the juice runnin' all through her. 'Note: Subject's ambient energy could sustain the entire city for two months at a time.' Seems normies like their electricity tamed. Good luck with that one!

"Number two: Toralei Stripe. 'Attitude, leadership capabilities, cleverness.' No surprise there, our resident bad kitty is pretty wicked. But capable of murder? What do you think?

"Spot number three. She's rude, she's crude, she's got a bad attitude. It's Howleen Wolf. Sure, she's snotty, but I'd put my money on Clawdeen for Most Likely to Murder a Normie, not this pup."

He rose from the seat, carrying the letter and the mic, to drag one of the heavier chairs up against the back of the office door, propping it under the doorknob.

"Number four: Gorey Fangtell, queen of the vampire scene. She's a blueblood with a wicked bite, but is she mean enough to end a life?

"Number five: Deuce Gorgon. Now we all know gettin' stoned is against the law, but come on, man! Deuce is one chill bro! I'd sooner blame Slo Mo!

"Number six: Heath Burns, a fire risk to be sure.

"Number seven: ice queen Abbey Bominable.

"Number eight will scare you straight. Scarah Screams, ladies and gents.

"Now let me ask you kids a question. You've seen the evidence. The photos have been getting around. Maybe you've even read the New Salem newspaper to follow the case. Did that look like the work of a vampire? No? How about burns, were there burn marks? Ice? What about Scarah? What'd she do, predict him to death?

"Another thing: Do any of these monsters look particularly monstruous? Think about Manny, Eyera, Simon Clops. But Deuce? Toralei? Abbey? .. They're passable! This list is for public relations! It's marketing, is what it is!

"What's New Salem after? We're headed for disaster. What do they want? Do you think they want justice? No! They want a scapegoat! A sacrifice! Are you going to let them have it?"

Sudden pounding sounded on the door. He heard the key in the lock, watched the knob twist.

"Just like last year," he said, snarling into the mic. "They tried to give the Holtster the Trick or Treatment! Have you forgotten? Now they've got Frankie Fine, little Howleen, they've got Heath and Abbey! How soon until they've got you?"

The banging on the door increased, and the chair rocked up on its back feet, pulling against the door. He rose to his feet.

"Listen, my monster brothers and sisters. This list is going up. If you're on it, stay here and claim sanctuary. Challenge the New Salemites to come in after you. We will eat them alive! We'll spit 'em out and send 'em crying home to their mommies!"

He set the mic down, taking Spectra's phone from his pocket, and held the power button. It turned on with a brief melody. He browsed through it, noting there were three new texts and an armload of photos saved for quick access.

He scrolled through the texts, picking up the mic once more. "Another thing, boils and ghouls. You've noticed Spectra's gone quiet, right? It's not like that ghoul to disappear on us. Perhaps she's got something to hide. I'm updating her website right now. Check the Ghostly Gossip. Hyde out."

The door cracked, splintering as it burst open, the chair flinging across the room, and Holt jumped up, tossing Spectra's iCoffin back into the drawer.

Outside the office, Manny Taur huffed with effort, picking bits of splintered wood from his horns. The Headmistress stood in the doorway, hands on her hips, eyes burning. "Holt Hyde! If we weren't in such a dire situation, I would expel you for an entire month!"

He walked around the desk, making a rude gesture at her, and held up the list of names. "Why are you keepin' secrets? Who are you tryin' to protect, Bloodgood?"

Her face reddened. She glared at him. "I didn't want students being targeted.."

"The whole damn school's being targeted." His voice lowered to a snarl once more. He stared at her, eyes burning. "You and the Elder Council would have watched my beheading at the hands of those normies without batting an eyelash. Whose side are you on now?"

The Headmistress frowned. "Holt, you don't understand. It's a very complicated situation."

"Complicated? People are dying. You're sacrificing us, sending lambs to the slaughter."

"It's only temporary. I assure you, no one is getting hurt."

He stared at her for a long moment, trembling, eyes wide. He shouted, unable to hold back. "How do you know?!"

"I don't."

"You trusted them. They came in here demanding blood, and you trusted them." He shook his head, recoiling. "You gave up on us. Worse, you gave us up to them."

"No. Holt, please.."

He closed his eyes. Stepping back, he held the list up, showing her the names. "This needs to be public. These people need to know they are targets. That was your job, Bloodgood, but I'll do it for you. I've already been sentenced by these fools."


	44. Chapter 44

Clawdeen woke early. Sunlight peeked through the drapes of the Biteology classroom. She sat up, looking around, disoriented. She could see Lagoona's wavy blonde locks spilling out from under a blanket not far away, and Twyla's shadowy hands clasped under her face as she slept. She remembered: they were locked in now. She checked her phone. It was almost seven in the morning.

She got to her feet, stretching, and gathered her bag. Stepping over other sleeping girls, she made her way to the door, opening it quietly, and slipped out into the dark hallway.

In the restroom, she washed her face, brushed her fangs, and spent almost ten minutes brushing her hair. She searched her bag for a spare razor, finally retrieving one from her locker, and went through the arduous process of the first shave of the day.

Refreshed, Clawdeen hefted her bag and jogged towards the gym, ready for a morning run. As she passed the main doors, she saw flashing lights outside, and hesitated, peering out the windows. Two cruisers sat just beyond the courtyard, and there were four officers moving towards the school, talking between themselves as they walked.

She heard a groan behind her and turned, startled. Ghoulia and Lagoona were both there, Lagoona dressed for her morning laps in the pool, Ghoulia clutching her laptop. "Not how I wanted to start my day, that's for sure," Lagoona said, frowning out the window, and Clawdeen nodded.  
"Does the Headmistress know?"

"Uuugghh," Ghoulia said, nodding, and thunked her laptop with her knuckles.

"Good job, Ghoulia."

"Ladies," said the Headmistress, appearing at the base of the stairs, and they nodded, parting before her. She opened the doors, stepping out onto the stone steps. The officers waited at the bottom, staring up at her. Clawdeen and her friends filtered out as well, curious.

"Good morning," she said to the officers, still unsmiling. "What can I do for you gentlemen today?"

One of the officers cleared his throat, stepping forward. "Well, ma'am, Officer Goodfellow sent us to inquire after several students identified as potential threats to the security of New Salem, who have not placed themselves in our custody."

She pursed her lips. "I was not aware they had missed the given grace period."

"Well, ma'am, we just want them in custody as soon as possible, to avoid any possible incidents."

The Headmistress nodded while Clawdeen, Lagoona, and Ghoulia exchanged a dubious glance. Students gathered behind them in the doorway, peering out. "Which students are those, officer?"

"You were provided with a list, correct?"

"Yes. Forgive me; the school is rather large, or, at least, it was before this unfortunate business with your town. I can't be expected to keep tabs on the locations of every one of my students." She narrowed her tired eyes at him, and he looked away, cowed.

"Hold on just a second." Venus emerged, pointing down at the officers. "Give us a reason why anyone on that list should turn themselves in. What are they being charged with?"

Lagoona nodded, stepping up. "What are they guilty of?"

The officers looked at one another, adjusting their caps in the early morning sunlight. "None of them are guilty, yet. They are under suspicion. We simply want to question them."

"Really? Didn't you do enough questioning the first time?"

"Where's Frankie?" Clawdeen said, standing on her tiptoes to be seen as well as heard. "Where's my little sister? Are you done 'questioning' them yet?"

The officers looked to the Headmistress, who sighed and put up her hands. "Please, students, these gentlemen are only trying to do their job."

"You should be holding them back," Venus said, and in the growing crowd beyond the doorway, voices shouted in agreement.

"Shouldn't you be doing your job, too?" Lagoona said, and the Headmistress drew in a sharp breath.

One of the officers drew a notebook from his pocket. "Here are the names of students still requested by the New Salem Police Department. Deuce Gorgon. Scarah Screams. Rochelle Goyle. Clawd Wolf. Invisi-Billy. Meowlody. Purrsephone."

"Wait. Those are new," Lagoona said, and Venus turned to the others inside the school, shouting, "They're adding new names to the list!"

The Headmistress stepped forward. "What is this? You gave me a list, I tried to ensure the students held to it. Now you're changing it?"

"New information, ma'am. Apparently several students came into town over the weekend and caused some major havoc."

She scoffed, hands on her hips. "Such as?"

The officer flipped open his notebook once more. "Breaking and entering into an officer's home. Assault, possible manslaughter of a hospitalized patient. Harassment and assault of unarmed students. Resisting arrest. Fleeing from officers. Not to mention.. uh.. turning a dozen of our officers to stone."

"_Excusez-moi_," came a voice from above, and they looked up as Rochelle dropped down to the stone steps, wings slowing her descent. "_C'est vrai_, Headmistress. It is true. I entered New Salem along with Deuce, and we encountered Invisi-Billy there. However, I do not feel the incident has been accurately described by this officer."

The officer produced a pair of handcuffs, and Rochelle stepped forward, hands out. The Headmistress put out an arm, barring her movement, and turned to her on the steps. "Rochelle, I can't let them take you. I need you here."

"_Madame_, I am guilty. I must go."

"Guilty of what?" Lagoona called. "Leaving school grounds?"

The Headmistress turned to the officers. "What are her charges?"

They exchanged a look. "She, uh.. she assaulted a student from New Salem High, requiring him to go to the emergency room to have his hand put into a brace."

Venus snorted. "How did he hurt himself, if she was the attacker?"

"Maybe he hurt his fist from punching her," said Lagoona, and the two shared a grim laugh, eyeing the officers.

"_Oui_," said Rochelle. "This boy you speak of, he was attacking Deuce. I simply stood between him and Deuce, to protect my friend. It was not my intent to harm him, and I did not put a claw on him."

"Sure, you say that now." The officer stepped forward, ready with the handcuffs, but Venus slid between them, arms crossed over her chest.

"She doesn't deny being there, but she says she didn't hurt the boy. You can't take her."

The officer frowned. "That's not how it works."

Venus looked back, spotting Robecca in the faces peering through the door, and gave her a wink and a nod. Robecca nodded in response, disappearing inside the school.

Clawdeen pushed her way to the front, glaring at the officers. "What about my little sister? She's innocent! You've had her for what, three days now? When's she coming home?"

The officer with the cuffs sighed, annoyed now. "I'm afraid you'd have to talk to Officer Goodfellow about that."

"Yeah. I'd like to." She stepped up, putting out her arms. "Why don't you take me to him so we can have a little chat?"

Rochelle stepped back as the students surged forward with shouts of "Me too!" "Take me!"

"How about me?" said Manny, blowing on the top of an officer's head. "Why aren't I on the list?"

"Are you prejudiced against non-normie-like monsters?" Venus called, and Lagoona said, "Do we have to look like you in order for you to acknowledge we exist?"

"Now, just hold on.." The officers started to back down into the courtyard, surrounded.

"What's the matter?" Clawdeen kept pace, giving the officer with the cuffs a light shove. "Don't tell me you're chickening out. Come on, take me in."

"Fine," he said, and snapped the cuffs on her wrists, provoking shrieks of rage from the gathered students.

"She's innocent!"

"She isn't on the list!"

"Wasn't one Wolf enough?"

"Look," said the officer, turning towards the crowd, "I'm only following orders here, all right? I gave you the names. Headmistress, you have until sunset to get those students to us."

"Or else what?" Venus said, taunting. Behind her, Meowlody and Purrsephone glared at the officers, hissing.

He stared at them. "Or else we come back, and we won't ask nicely next time."

"Are you threatening us?" Lagoona said.

"Buncha bullies," Manny said, snorting, and stomped towards the officers. Meowlody and Purrsephone hurried down off the steps, racing around behind the officers, cutting off their exit. One took out his gun, nervous, and the students began to shout, shoving and pushing one another. Manny leaned into the officer's face, and now the others drew their guns, shouting warnings to the bull-headed boy. The catgirls behind them yowled, showing their claws, ready to pounce.

"Wait! Stop!" Scarah appeared at the top of the stairs, waving her arms. "Stop this nonsense at once! I'll go. I'll go with you. But please, don't hurt anyone."

"Scarah," said the Headmistress, and Scarah shook her head, scowling, refusing to look.

She hurried down the steps, holding out her arms to the officers at the bottom. "Go on. This madness has got to stop. Slap 'em on me and I'll come along quietly, I swear."

The officer cuffed Scarah, and behind him, another officer put cuffs on Meowlody and Purrsephone.

"Aren't you gonna cuff me, too?" said Manny, and the officers ignored him as best they could.

"You look too much like a monster," Lagoona said, shouting to be heard. "They need nice, normie-like faces to show the townsfolk. Can't cause a riot!"

Inside the school, Robecca found Clawd Wolf, spinning around him in her rocket boots. "Clawd - we've got to get you to a safe place. Deuce, too, if you've seen him. Head down to the entry of the catacombs. I'll meet you there in a bit, all right, love?"

"Sure," he said, nodding, watching from the window as Clawdeen bent down to get into the back of the police cruiser. He took out his phone, trying again to call Draculaura.

Now the robot girl stepped into the rows atop the stone steps, pulling gently at Rochelle's arm. "Come on," she said, her voice hushed, almost a whisper. "We've got to get you to safety before they come back."

Rochelle shook her head. "I should go with them."

"Yes, but you can't. Rochelle, we need you here. We need your keen mind and your bulletproof skin. Don't go with them. Please."

The gargoyle looked back at the cruisers, torn, then slouched and followed Robecca back into the school.

"How could you allow them to do this?" Venus said, shaking a fist in the air. "This is our territory! These are our people!"

The Headmistress watched the New Salem officers pack her students into their cars and drive away. She heaved a sigh, looking at the assembly of students on the steps. Rows of disappointed eyes looked back at her. She turned and stomped back into the school, headed for her office. Quietly, clutching her laptop, Ghoulia followed.


	45. Chapter 45

"Spectra!" Robecca caught up to the translucent girl, panting, keeping pace with her but just barely. "We need to get you someplace safe. I've got a plan. Will you come with me?"

Spectra raised an eyebrow at Robecca. "Haven't you heard? I'm the guilty one. It's all over my blog, thanks to Holt Hyde."

Robecca faltered, knocked off-balance for a second. "What?"

"Look it up, if you don't believe me."

"You know I don't use modern tech, love."

Spectra eyed her, then sighed. "Sorry. I'm just so upset! He took my phone, he posted private pictures of me and texts between me and.. a friend.. and now everyone in school knows about it! I'm so offended. I have to see the Headmistress about getting my phone back, so I can keep it safe."

Robecca paused, watching her float up the stairwell towards the Headmistress's office. "All right. Meet up with me at the entry to the catacombs by the front stairs when you're done, all right?"

"Sure. Just wait for me. I'll be there."

She floated through the door to the Headmistress's office, scowling. "Headmistress Bloodgood? I need to speak with you."

The Headmistress sat behid the desk, her chair turned so that she faced the windows, fingers steepled across her chest. In the window seat across the room, Ghoulia sat with her laptop, typing. She turned to Spectra; her eyes were tired, her face haggard. "Spectra, come in. Close the door please. How can I help you?"

"It's my phone, Headmistress. I need it back urgently."

The Headmistress nodded, rubbing her temples. "And why is that?"

"I'm disconnected from everything. You've locked us in the school, and now I have no way of reaching the outside world. The Internet is my lifeline, Headmistress. I need something to get me through."

She nodded again, sitting back in her chair, and gave a deep sigh. "How long have you been a student here, Spectra?"

Spectra paused. "Some time, Headmistress. Since shortly after my death, I believe."

"And what are your goals beynd this school? What field are you training for? Where will you attend university?"

"I've heard there is an excellent school in Scaris."

The Headmistress leaned back, a faint smile on her lips. "Journalism?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Appropriate. They do say print is dead." The Headmistress sighed, running one hand across the empty surface of her desk. "I know how difficult it must be, Spectra, stuck here, not knowing when it will end. How old do you think this school is?"

She shrugged.

"Uuuggghhh," said Ghoulia, and the Headmistress cast her a sharp look.

"You're not the only ghost in these halls."

"I'm aware, Headmistress."

"You're not the oldest, either." She eyed Spectra for a long, silent moment.

Spectra frowned, nervous. "Headmistress?"

The Headmistress reached into the top side drawer of her desk, removing a silver flask. She unscrewed the top with one nimble flick of her wrist and took a quick drink. "It's a box, Spectra. Don't you understand? This school - it has never been anything more than a holding cell. Your parents needed a place where you could be watched, kept safe, kept out of trouble. Do you really think any of this has merit beyond itself? Are you going to need to know how to cook for twelve, solve for X, write a critical essay, understand normie poets from the 16th century? No. You don't need any of this. It's all just busywork, to make you feel secure, to distract you from eternity and your own potential.

"After this, it's another box, farther away; and then another, maybe one where they pay you to stay out of trouble. And if you can't, then one where they don't. One where the doors don't open when you want, but when someone else says. All a mechanism to control you, to pacify you, to keep you under watch. Tell me the difference between jail and these halls. Tell me, Spectra, the difference between these halls and the grave you avoided staying in. Tell me again how disconnected you feel, how alone. Tell me why I should care."

Spectra floated closer to the desk, hesitant. Ghoulia sighed and closed her laptop, turning to them.

Bloodgood's eyes closed. Her body slouched back into the chair, relaxing. She pulled open the top drawer, removing Spectra's little purple iCoffin, and tossed it through Spectra's translucent chest. "It doesn't matter anymore. You can post all you want. Blow it wide open, as they say. I'll give you your first story. The family of the murdered boy? They were one of the most loyal supporters of this school, and had been for generations. You can decide for yourself whether it was to imprison the monsters, or protect them. It will all be over soon."

She looked down at her phone, caressing its familiar rounded edges, then scowled up at the Headmistress. "Over?"

"They won't let us resist them for much longer. This is the curse, the dynamic between us. Without them, we wouldn't be monsters. We'd have no need to be. They force us to act at our worst, and then they hound us for it, hunt us, hurt us, destroy us." She picked up the flask a second time, testing its weight. "I just hope this time we've taught enough of you the wisdom of choosing your battles by the time they show their hand."


	46. Chapter 46

Robecca waited at the door, impatient. When she saw Spectra drifting down the stairs, she hurried to meet her halfway. "Go on in. Clawd and Deuce have already gone down. I've got a few others to gather and then I'll be down. Deuce knows the way - we're going to see Operetta. You'll tell him, won't you?"

Spectra nodded, giving a lifeless smirk. "You can rely on me to spread the word."

"Thanks. I'll be there shortly." She sighed in relief, rushing to meet Venus as the girl re-entered the school, and the two embraced for a long moment. Behind her, Lagoona and Gil exchanged a glance.

"Come with us," Robecca said, but Venus shook her head.

"We've got to be here to keep watch and keep them out. They'll come back soon."

"Tomorrow," Lagoona said, and both Venus and Gil nodded, somber.

Robecca squeezed Venus' hands in her own. "Well, why don't you let me stay up here? The others will be fine -"

Venus shook her head again, smiling. "You need to be with them. You can protect them so much better than I could. They need you."

"Well.. all right. I suppose." Her cog-shaped eyes darted to Lagoona and Gil. "Keep an eye on her for me, won't you? Don't let her do anything too reckless."

"As if we could stop her," Lagoona laughed, incredulous.

The girls embraced again and parted, Robecca gliding down into the dimly lit Hall of Hiss-tory and Dark Language Arts as Venus and her friends headed upstairs towards the Headmistress's office.

In the vast and echoing tunnels of the catacombs, Spectra ambled, floating, until she drifted through Clawd, who had been chatting with Deuce and a partially-visible Invisi-Billy.

"Damn," he said, backing away with a shudder. "Could you warn a fella next time?"

"Oh. Sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going." She backed towards a pillar, turning her attention to her iCoffin, stealing glances at him as he resumed talking with his friends.

"Hey, don't worry, man." Clawd slapped Billy on the shoulder. "She's a tough cookie. She'll give 'em hell."

"Yeah." Billy nodded, paler than usual, his eyes wide and frantic. "Do you think they'll just let her go? I mean, they still have Howleen, right?"

Clawd nodded, his expression melting into one of concern and uncertainty. "I'm not entirely sure what to do about that. Still thinking about it. I'll give them the benefit of the doubt, for the sake of monster-normie relations, but man, I am not happy." He turned to Deuce, giving him a nudge. "You gonna spend the whole apocalypse staring at your phone, or what?"

"Huh?" Deuce looked up, adjusting his shades. "What?"

"What is up with you? You're really spacy lately."

Deuce shoved his phone into the pocket of his hoodie, shrugging. "Just checking my phone."

"Cleo giving you the cold shoulder?"

He nodded, glancing towards where Rochelle leaned against a pillar, filing her claws. "I've been trying to reach her, and.. I don't know if she's not getting them or she's just not talking to me for some reason. I don't get it."

Clawd grinned, following Deuce's gaze, and gave his friend a gentle punch to the shoulder.

"What?"

"Man, you know what."

Deuce sneered. "What, me and Rochelle? We're just friends."

Clawd nodded, glancing at Billy, who smirked. "Riiight."

"Oh, shut up."

Spectra drifted closer to them, clicking a quick picture with her phone. "Deuce, Robecca told me to ask you to take the group to Operetta. Do you know how to get to her?"

"Sure. Spectra, why don't you go in the front, so we can follow your glow?"

Spectra nodded, preceding them down the tunnels, and Billy gave Deuce a nudge. "Have you seen the Ghostly Gossip?"

"No," Deuce said, following Spectra's violet luminescence. "Did she update it finally?"

"Dude." Clawd shook his head. "Holt posted a ton of stuff from her phone."

"Steamy texts," Billy said, grinning.

"Photos of her and some normie guy. Nothing graphic, just, like, they were involved, you know?"

"I think it's supposed to be the kid who died."

Deuce frowned, looking from Billy to Clawd and back. "Are you serious?"

"Totally."

He stared down the tunnel, watching Spectra's light fade further into the darkness, and hurried his steps. "So.. is Holt saying she killed that kid, or what?"

Clawd shrugged. "I don't know, dude, but apparently they were pretty tight."

"If she didn't do it, she probably knows who did," Billy said, and Clawd nodded his agreement.

"Man.." Deuce shook his head. "That's some messed-up shit right there."

In his pocket, Deuce's phone rang, the shrill default ringtone echoing around them. He stepped aside, watching the others pass, and pulled out his phone. It displayed the number, but not one he recognized. He frowned, debating.

Spectra appeared at the mouth of a tunnel beyond the chamber they'd just entered, curious, and he held up a hand. "Wait there for me, guys. I've got to answer this."

He put the phone to his ear, doubtful. "Hello?"

"Deuce?"

"Cleo?" He looked at the phone again. "Are you calling from your phone?"

"No, Daddy still has mine. This is Nefera's number. I might have taken it from her purse while she was getting ready to leave for the spa. She won't miss it."

"I've been texting you.."

"Oh, goodness. I hope it wasn't anything graphic. Daddy's probably reading all of those now. Ugh, gross."

"Yeah," said Deuce, stomach sinking as he thought back over the messages he'd sent across the past few days. "Gross."

"Anyhow, I wanted to thank you for all your help with that little conference video project the other day. You were a huge help. I owe you one."

He walked along the wall, finding a broken column, and climbed up to sit on it, staring at his friends gathered by the tunnel entrance. "Yeah, no big. So is that all? I'm kind of busy right now."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said, her tone thick with sudden sarcasm. "I didn't mean to interrupt. I suppose I'll let you go, then, since whatever you're doing is so much more important than talking to me."

Deuce put a hand on his head, heaving a sigh. "Cleo, wait.."

"I'm listening."

He switched the phone to his other ear, lowering his voice. "Listen, I need to talk to you. About us. Are you going to have time for that? Maybe later tonight?"

"You.. want to talk about our relationship? Deuce, I'm.. well, this is.."

"Come on, Cleo, don't make it a big deal. Will you have time later or not?"

"I had some plans, but.. I will make time."

"Good. Great. Thanks."

"I miss you."

Deuce looked ahead, to where Spectra's glow reflected off the stone walls, silohuetting Rochelle's form where she stood waiting for him. "Yeah," he said, frowning. "I miss you, too."

"I know you're busy, darling, so I'll let you go."

"Right. OK. Love you," he said, and hit the END button before the reflexive reply sank in. He sat for a while with his head in his hands, feeling stupid and confused and sick.

He took a deep breath, getting to his feet just as Robecca's rocket boots flared down the tunnel they'd just come through. "Still here?" she said, laughing. "All right. Well, let's be quick, shall we?"

Deuce adjusted his hoodie, nodding to Hoodude and Cupid as they followed the fiery reflection of Robecca's boots into the chamber, and hurried to catch up with Rochelle and the others.

"_Bien_?" Rochelle asked, and he nodded.

"Just my mom." He shoved the phone into his pocket, avoiding her eyes. "You know how it is."

She eyed him for a moment, then turned, facing the backs of their companions as they filed into the tunnel. "Deuce, I need to talk with you."

"Now is not a great time."

"I understand. Perhaps tonight? I will be going to the roof, where I usually sleep. You could come with me."

He glanced at her, a half-smile quirking across his face. He wanted to say, "Are you inviting me to sleep with you?" but he could tell, looking at her face, she was too fragile for potentially offensive humor right now. "All right," he said, nodding. "Why don't we meet here, say, at sundown?"

She shook her head, reaching out to touch the stone walls, her sharp claws cutting an effortless groove into the surface. "I might need your help to find my way out. My sense of direction is terrible underground."

"OK," he said, and, moved by the vulnerability on her face, slid his hand into her own, giving a gentle squeeze. "OK, so I'll come find you at sunset, and we can walk up together. How's that?"

"O_uai, bien. Merci_, Deuce."

He shrugged one shoulder. "No problem. Hey, what are friends for, right?"


	47. Chapter 47

Frankie sat at the edge of the tiny cot in her cell, watching with hands clasped as Toralei's lackeys were shown to their cells.

"Go get the other one," said an officer, gesturing. Short and blonde, she'd heard the others call him Cody. He turned, glancing back at her over his shoulder with a disgruntled expression.

"Sorry again," she said, offering a lopsided smile. "If I'd known that was going to happen -"

"Shut it," he said, not unkindly, and she went quiet. "Wellborn - bring the little one into the interrogation room, and get Goodfellow out here. We don't want them crossing paths."

"Right."

She edged further towards the bars, hands clutching at one another, watching as Officer Wellborn entered Howleen's identical cell at the end of the opposite row, handcuffed her while she objected in a whiny tone, and walked her down the hall, out of sight.

Cody took the walkie-talkie from his belt. "Rob? We pulled the little one for you. She's ready to go."

The little box crackled, and in a burst of static-clouded noise, Officer Goodfellow responded. Cody listened, the sneer still stuck on his face. Around him, two officers brought Clawdeen into the room while she shouted obscenities and tried to pull away from them. They put her into the third cell down, right next to Meowlody, and slammed the door shut, not bothering to uncuff her.

Clawdeen threw herself against the bars. "Where's my sister? What have you done with her? I swear, I will rip you to shreds, you lousy -"

"Yes, sir. He's already here. I'll let him know, sir." Cody replaced the walkie-talkie on his belt, eyeing Clawdeen.

Gorey, in the cell across from Clawdeen and next to Frankie, groaned. "Will you just stop? It's not going to do any good. They've heard it all, trust me. You should've heard some of the nasty shit I said. Made one of 'em sick, but that Goodfellow, man, he's made of stone or something."

"Hey," said Heath, sticking an arm through the bars, waving Cody closer. "Hey, man, can I use the restroom? I really gotta go."

"There's a toilet in your cell."

"Well, yeah, but.." Heath faltered. "I'm surrounded by girls here, man. Have some compassion for a dude's dignity."

Cody's sneer turned into an amused smirk. He folded his arms across his chest. "Well, I could stand outside your cell so they can't see you. But I'll have to keep an eye on what you're doing."

"What? No way. Come on, man, let me out for a sec. You can handcuff me again if you want."

Cody's smirk widened into a genuine smile, and Heath sighed.

"That didn't come out the way I meant it to."

"Right," said Cody, and stepped back, surveying the prisoners as two more officers entered the room. "Here. These two, take them."

"Which?"

"The blue girl and the annoying one. Make sure you put him in the room with the extra extinguisher."

Frankie put her head in her hands, sighing as Heath and Abbey were cuffed and walked down the hall. She stood, walking up to the bars. "Excuse me. Since you've already questioned me and Gorey, could we please go back to the school? These beds are really uncomfortable, and if we're not being charged with anything, I think it's technically illegal for you to hold us here."

He stared at her for a long moment. "Illegal?" he said, scowling. "Really? And who do you plan to talk to about that?"

Gorey stood as well, hands wrapped around the bars. "My dad's a lawyer, you know. You're not going to get away with this."

Cody nodded. His sneer returned, settling onto his face, and Frankie's shoulders slumped as she realized he didn't care. "Settle down, girls. You'll go when Officer Goodfellow says you can. Just relax and get some rest."


	48. Chapter 48

"Good evening." Goodfellow set a file down in front of Howleen, smiling warmly. She glared, distrustful.

"How are you doing? Are you hungry? Jason - get the girl some dinner, would you?" He looked into her face, still smiling. "What would you like, sweetheart?"

"I wanna go home," she said, and despite her fierce expression, he could hear the catch in her voice and saw tears spring to her eyes. "I just want to go home. I didn't do nothin' wrong."

He nodded. "I know. I know you didn't. But here's the thing." He tapped the manila folder on the table between them. "There's a good chance you know who did, yet you haven't told us yet. Now, I know, if it was one of your friends who had died, you'd want the killer found, right?"

She sniffled, scowling up at him, incredulous.

"Of course you would. And that's all we want, Howleen. We need your help to find that person, though. Will you help us?"

Howleen jerked her handcuffed hands against the back of the chair, frustrated. "I don't know nothin'! I told you that already! I don't even suspect anybody."

"What do you want to eat?"

She paused, eyeing each of the three officers in the room by turn. "Hamburger," she said. "Rare. You got french fries?"

"We've got a full kitchen here, sweetie. Anything you want."

"Yeah, some french fries, then. And a.. a strawberry milkshake. You got that?"

The officer he'd addressed as Jason nodded, offering her a smile as he jotted it down, and left the room. The other officer moved in, closing the gap between her and the door. Goodfellow shifted into the center of her field of vision, opening the folder. "OK. He'll bring that back in a little bit. In the meantime, Howleen, I'm going to ask you some questions. They're the same ones I asked yesterday, and the day before. I want you to give me honest answers, all right?"

She slumped in the chair, hair falling into her face. "I've already answered all your questions. Come on."

Goodfellow cleared his throat, sitting back in his chair. "Could you please state your full name, for the record?"

She cursed, reciting her name, social security number, birth date, and birthplace in a monotone, glaring at him. "I trust those are all still correct?"

"Yes." He smiled. "Good work. You're a student at Monster High, correct?"

"You know it."

"And what grade are you in, Howleen?"

She growled. "Eighth."

"Who are your friends at school?"

"Ugh. Who did I say last time?"

"I can't tell you that."

"Fine. Well, nothing has changed."

"You have to give me names."

She rolled her eyes, reciting a list of four or five students with whom she often spent time at school.

"Tell me about Twyla," Goodfellow said, and she sat up, curious.

"Well, what do you want to know?"

"Who does she like to spend time with?"

Howleen shrugged one shoulder. "She's pretty chill, likes to hang out with a lot of different people. I don't know. I guess Spectra, mostly."

His eyes brightened. He skimmed through the pages of the folder, sliding out a couple of stapled pages. "Spectra Vondergeist?"

"Yeah, that's the one."

"Do you spend time with Spectra?"

Howleen shook her head, sneering. "Nah. She's a bit loony. Plus she's a horrible gossip."

"Really? What does she have to say about the murders?"

"I don't know. Like I said, I don't really spend time with her. Are you gonna take these cuffs off when my food gets here?"

"The last time you spoke to Spectra, did she say anything about New Salem or the murders?"

Howleen frowned. "I told you, I don't talk to her."

"Has Twyla told you anything Spectra has said about New Salem or the murders?"

"Uh.. yeah, I think so. A while back she said, um, Spectra thought we should all just, like, lay low and let the normies - um, sorry, the.. the humans? Let the New Salem people do what they wanted."

Goodfellow nodded, clasping his hands atop the folder. "And what did you think of that advice?"

"Well, it's ridiculous. Like we're gonna let a bunch of cops come in and grab people for no good reason, rather than cause problems. That's just dumb."

He smiled. "Isn't that exactly what we've done, Howleen?"

"What?" She shrugged. "I guess. I mean, I figured you had reasons for arresting people. You're tellin' me you don't?"

"What if we kept you here for, say, a week?"

She looked from his smiling face to the neutral officer standing at the table's edge. Her throat started to feel dry and hot, and suddenly she wanted to be out of the room very badly. "You can't, though."

"Oh? Why not?"

"There's a law or something, isn't there? Like, if we're not guilty, and not being charged with anything, then you have to let us go."

"Oh, really? Or what?"

She blinked. A frown creased her face. "I don't understand."

Goodfellow sat up, leaning towards her. "If we kept you here for a week, didn't feed you, didn't allow you access to the bathroom, and kept asking you until you told us what you know.. what would happen? Would we get sued? What if you got hurt, Howleen? What if, just hypothetically, you understand, you died? What would happen to us? Would we have to go to jail?" He gave her a broad, predatory smile. "Do you really think any court would rule against us? You're a werewolf. You're a vicious, bloodthirsty wild animal. What if we felt threatened? Had to defend ourselves?"

Again she looked from one to the other. She could hear her own heartbeat slamming in her ears, and a cold sweat broke out around her neck. She pulled against the handcuffs again. "Man, you're just tryin' to scare me, aren't you? Listen, I don't know anyth-"

He stood, slamming his fists onto the table, and she jumped at the loud noise, tears springing into her eyes. "You know," he snarled, "and you're just being an obstinate brat. But we have ways of dealing with snot-nosed little kids like you." He motioned to the other officer, who turned and left the room.

As soon as they were alone, he came around the table, settling himself nose-to-nose with her, his voice calm and smooth. "Listen to me. The only way you're getting out of here is by giving us the information we need, and then you're free to go. Just like that. It's so easy. Why are you resisting us?"

She snivelled, tears trickling down onto her face. "I swear, I don't know nothin'. I've told you -"

He seized a handful of her hair, jerking her head back at a painful angle. The back of her skull struck the metal chair and she yelped in pain. "Start with Spectra. I want to hear everything you know about Spectra, and everything she's said about our town, and about these murders. Every word."

"But I -"

He gave her head a jerk, slamming her skull into the chair again, and she yowled. He threw her head forward, walking back around the table just as Jason returned with a cafeteria tray full of food. The tray slid across the table towards her. Next to her burger and fries, under the glass for her milkshake, there was a square First Aid kit. She looked up at them, two smiling predators toying with their prey, and she bit back her tears, eyes narrowing.

The door opened, and a tall, stout man in safari gear entered the room, his bright eyes fixing on her immediately. She knew him from the pictures she'd seen and the stories in books. Her blood went cold as Officer Goodfellow stood, shaking hands with Van Hellscream, and the two of them turned to stare at her.

"Werewolf," he said, his smile broadening for a moment. He hefted a leather bag onto the table. "Good thing I came quite prepared."


	49. Chapter 49

"All right," Deuce said, panting, and paused halfway up the flight of stairs. Rochelle turned at the landing. "I've got something to say."

She grinned. "If it is about the excess of long staircases in this school, I agree."

"No, not that." He huffed, catching up to her, and tried to catch his breath. "Although you're right."

She watched, amused. "You are staring," she said after a moment, a pale blush rising in her cheeks.

"Sorry." He took a step closer, removing his glasses, and looked her in the eye.

"There are two flights more until we reach the roof," she said, her brow creasing in a slight scowl. "What are you doing?"

He licked his lips, searching for the right words. "I think I'm breaking up with Cleo."

"What?" She laughed, nervous. "That is impossible."

"Why?" He shrugged, touching the curve of her arm. "She's thousands of years older than I am. She'll outlive me by millennia, in all likelihood, and she's sure not going to want me around when I get old and ugly. I mean, sure, we care about each other, but I think we both know it's just a high school thing." He drew his hand back along her arm, taking her hand into his own, and she stepped closer. "Look at me," he said. "You're the only one who can see me like this. You've caught me completely off guard, and it's been a bit scary, I'll admit, but.. I like it. I like you. And I'd really like to get to know you better."

Rochelle exhaled, resting her other hand on his shoulder, her expression softening. "Deuce, _mon cher_.."

He slid an arm around her waist, drawing her close. In his imagination, at this moment, he would hush her in a very suave macho manner, or say something cool; but now, cradling her body against his own, he found himself rendered speechless, able only to stare at her.

They both leaned in at the same moment, drawing back when their noses bumped. She gave him an embarrassed smile and he chuckled, nervous. He leaned in again, tilting his head, and she pressed into his kiss, one arm around his shoulders, holding him close.

He found her lips suprisingly soft, flavored with vanilla chapstick, and pressed so close to her skin he could smell her natural earthy aroma. She smelled like the rainwashed skies above Scaris, wrought iron and stone, strength and elegance intertwined.

"I've liked you since I first saw you," he said, nuzzling into the hollow between her neck and her shoulder, inhaling her scent, and ran his fingers through her candy-colored hair.

She held him to her, gentle, stroking the snakes of his hair as they twined and hissed around her fingers. "I feel the same."

"I'll talk to her tonight," he said, standing back, and she shook her head, looking away.

She stroked his cheek with one finger, turning his face to hers. "As strong as my feelings are for you, I do not think we should be together. Not now."

He stepped back, releasing his hold on her, and they stared at one another. She took the glasses from his hand before he could put them back on, shielding himself.

"Please - I do not mean to cause you pain. It is only -"

He nodded, turning away. "No, I get it. It's OK. You don't have to explain."

Rochelle took both his hands, stepping close, forcing him to look at her. "But I do. You deserve an explanation, at the very least."

"It's Cleo, isn't it? You're afraid she might want revenge, or -"

Rochelle laughed. "Do you think me so weak? I am not afraid of her. I am afraid, instead, of being misled by my emotions. I am also concerned by your recent behavior, as it goes against my own beliefs. Let me explain. In Scaris, I have a boyfriend, Garrotte, and we are very much in love."

Deuce slumped, covering his face. "Oh, man. I'm sorry. I didn't realize.."

"Although I love him," she said, touching his cheek, drawing his attention once more, "I am at times very lonesome. And it is in my nature to flirt. My mind and my body may crave a companion, but my heart, it belongs to him."

"OK." Deuce frowned.

"So you see, I could never love another. And I could not bear to think I am hurting you by being unable to give myself fully."

He nodded, understanding, and heaved a sigh. "No, I get it. It's OK."

"My people are protectors," she said. "We uphold the law. I have seen you, several times now, violate that belief, with will and intent. We are violating that belief right now; we are both wanted by the New Salem Police, yet here we are." She shook her head, stepping back. "It pains me to know I am acting in such a way. I will admit, there is some allure to the 'bad boy' you have become, but I cannot live this way and be content with myself."

He grinned, slicking back his snakes. "Allure, huh?"

"Finally, I must say, my feelings for you have no doubt been affected by all this terrible business in the school. I am scared, Deuce, and I am lonely. Would I still be attracted to you without all this disruption? _Certainement_. But would I be so ready to begin a relationship? Am I ready now? _Non, je ne pense, alors_. And I do not think you are ready, either." She took his hand, brushing back the row of snakes, pressing close to him. "It is all right to be scared, and to be lonesome, together. But it is not OK to base a relationship upon that. Do you understand?"

He nodded, putting an arm around her waist.

"Maybe you are the solution for my loneliness and fear. But I will not know until the trouble has passed if these feelings are true. And, in truth, I do not wish them to be, because I love another."

He nodded again. "Yeah. Me too."

She straightened, pulling away, and struck him on the chest, making him cough. "_Zut! Nous sommes amies_. We are friends."

"Good friends."

"Within our hearts. Perhaps not with our bodies. _Ouai_?"

He nodded, taking his glasses back as she held them out. "All right."

"However.." She followed as he started up the next flight of stairs, grinning. "It has been a very long time since I was properly kissed, and if you would like to do so again, I would not refuse."

He laughed, turning, and embraced her there on the steps. "Cleo could tell you - what my lady wants, my lady gets."


	50. Chapter 50

Clawdeen punched at the bars, snarling, and paced her cell, clenching and unclenching her fists at her sides. "Frankie!"

"Yeah?"

"What the hell? Do something!"

Frankie stared at her friend, at a loss. "What do you want me to do?"

Clawdeen stared down the hall, then pointed, looking at Frankie. "You hear that? That's my little sister."

"I can't hear it, Clawdeen. You can probably hear through their soundproofing."

"That's my little sister," she said again, her voice rising, "and she is SCREAMING."

"So?" Gorey stood, walking to the bars. "What do you want her to do? Do you think there's some rusty keyring on a sleeping guard in here somewhere, just waiting to be plucked up and used? She can't even short-circuit the power system. She tried, earlier."

"Damn it," Clawdeen said, and then, louder, "DAMN it!"

"Don't worry," Frankie said, her voice high and tight. "I'm sure this is all just a big misunderstanding. They'll let us go soon."

Gorey sighed, slumping against the bars. "Oh, I wish I was naive enough to believe you, Frankie. I wish I could call my daddy. He'd tear this place apart."

Clawdeen groaned, throwing herself down on her cot, and covered her ears, sobbing. "Just make it stop. Make it stop."

* * *

Scarah looked up as Van Hellscream entered. Her whole body stiffened. It was hard, at times, to focus in school, because of all the ambient thoughts carelessly thrown around; but this man seemed to be broadcasting, as if he hoped someone was listening. She cringed as he hefted his leather bag onto the table, and she cringed again when he smiled at her.

"Goodfellow tells me you're a telepath," he said. "A banshee, no less. Charming. How quaint."

He moved close to her, peering into her eyes with a brilliant otoscope, and forced her mouth open to look down her throat.

"Tell me the name of your family."

She sagged. "I can't. You know I cannot."

Van Hellscream nodded, smiling. "I know. But if you don't, I'm going to ruin you. Make a choice."

She watched him for a long moment. "What you did to that other girl.. you knew it was wrong. You're scared of him, aren't you?"

The man scoffed, opening up his bag, and began to remove various small tools and satchels. "I am frightened of no man, mortal or otherwise."

"Oh, but you're right scared of Officer Goodfellow, aren't you?"

He paused, looking up at her, and continued to lay out his paraphernalia across the tabletop. She'd missed the mark. It wasn't the officer who frightened him, but someone else, someone associated with Goodfellow. She chose another tactic, sweating, trying not to notice the glittering tools laid out on the table.

"You know he isn't what he seems. Do you know what he is?"

"Only a man." Van Hellscream held up what appeared to be a long, hollow needle and a small wedge-headed hammer. "Now I will ask you something. Do you recognize this?"

"No," she lied, jutting her chin out at him.

He walked close, holding the implements out for her to see. "These are lobotomy tools from the early 19th century. A smart girl like you knows what a lobotomy is, correct?"

She didn't answer, stricken into silence by the violent images in his mind, and the sense that he was eagerly anticipating his grisly work.

"Your brain would be invaluable to science," he said, walking to the sink in one corner of the room. "We could finally learn where telepathy is located in the brain, and how it can be developed."

"Oh, sure." She rolled her eyes, cocking an eyebrow at him. "I could tell you all that without the needles and hammers, if you'd only ask kindly."

He stared at her. Finished washing his hands, he donned a pair of thick leather gloves from his bag. "I am not the type of man who asks for anything, miss."

"No," she said, as he drew a long, carefully folded paper apron from his bag and proceeded to clip it around his neck. "I imagine you aren't, at that."

He picked up the trephine, advancing on her, and pulled at the apron's collar until it unfolded over the lower half of his face. "Now, I imagine this will hurt quite a lot. Luckily, you're the only telepath in the building."

* * *

Clawd thrashed out of the hedgerow, cursing, and held still, listening for activity. The massive house remained silent and dark. He watched the porch, expecting Draculaura's father to pop out at any moment, then crept step by step to the back of the house.

The light in her bedroom was on. He tried to tell himself her father was probably out, hunting down dinner. Kneeling, he scooped up a handful of pebbles from the rosebush bed and backed towards the hedgerow, aiming for her window.

It took three tosses, but the huge windows swung open and she leaned out, her face pinched and crabby. "Clawd!" she said in a hiss. "These windows scratch very easily! I have told you that!"

"Did you get my text?"

"Yes, I did." She looked back over her shoulder, then slumped against the windowsill. "Daddy's out getting dinner. He is really loving having his 'little princess' at home. I feel like Rapunzel, though. Ready to tear my own hair out with boredom."

"Get dressed."

She sighed down at him. "Clawd, I can't. I can't just sneak out without permission. He'd kill me."

"All right. I'm coming up."

"No! Clawd, no! Down! Sit!" She giggled, watching him, and gave another sigh. "Oh, you are so cute. All right. I'll be out in a minute. Don't go anywhere, Romeo."

He got comfortable beside the hedge, pulling out his phone to keep himself occupied. He checked the Ghostly Gossip, disappointed to see Spectra had posted the terrible picture she'd snapped earlier of himself and the guys in the catacombs. As he sat staring at it, the page updated, and he sucked in a breath. There was a new photo: Deuce and Rochelle on the third-floor stairs, apparently making out. "Stone Cold Cheaters Caught in the Act!" the headline screamed. "Can Cleo Compete with Scarisian Beauty?" He scowled, closing out the site, and sent a text to Jackson's number instead.

8:14pm - hey man u almost ready? gettin d right now

8:16pm - GETTIN D HUH YEEEAAAAHHHH

8:20pm - gdi holt d for draculaura are u ready or wat?

8:23pm - D 4 DRACULAURA YEEAAHH GET IT BOYYYY

8:25pm - u ass we will be there in ten you better be ready

8:27pm - NAH MAN BUSY GETTIN D

8:30pm - WE ALL BUSY GETTIN D NOW U R MISSIN OUT

8:32pm - PARTY STARTED EARLY ITS A GIANT D PARTY NOW

8:34pm - DJ HYDE IN DA HOUSE THROWIN D ALL NITE LONG

8:35pm - TAKIN D PICS FOR MA BOY JACKSON

8:36pm - i am this close to takin u out of my contacts hh srsly

8:37pm - WHERE ARE U

8:38pm - waiting at d's she is getting dressed

8:40pm - YEEEAAAHH

8:40pm - 1 new picture message

8:41pm - im not opening that shit hh

8:41pm - ITS MEGAMIND DUDE LOOK

8:42pm - BLUE IS YR FAV COLOR RIGHT?

"God damn it, Holt, I fucking hate you," Clawd said, stuffing the phone back into his pocket. His face felt hot and uncomfortable now. He looked up at her window, considered throwing another handful of rocks, and decided against it. He tried not to think about Draculaura getting (un)dressed. That didn't work so well, and he stood, clearing his throat, trying to get himself under control.

He heard the back door open, and pushed himself into the hedgerow, peering around the edge of the house.

"Clawd?"

"Hey, yo." He stepped out, all swag, and gave her a charming smile. "Damn, hon, you outdid yourself this time."

She primped, blushing. "This? Come on. You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"We've got to hurry."

"Well.." She looked back at the house, torn, but slid her hand into his. "OK. I'm ready. Let's go."

They jogged around the hedgerow, down the street past the Jekylls and the Steins, to where Clawd's car was parked. He swung the door open for her, noting as he did how sallow and sickly she looked under the streetlamp. He dispelled his building anxiety and hopped into the driver's seat, revving the engine, turning the radio down low.

"So? Where are we going? You never said."

"It's a surprise." He turned, grinning, and she settled back into her seat, content.

She opened her purse, digging through it, finally pulling out a baggie with cut veggies. "I am so hungry. Like, ridiculous hungry. Dad's got me on this new synthetics diet. It's so gross."

"Synthetics?"

She rolled her eyes, crunching into a baby carrot. "Fake.. you know. Vampire juice."

"Oh, right. Are you actually eating that junk?"

She shrugged. "I don't have much of a choice. Just the sight of the stuff makes me queasy." She hesitated, and he could tell she was holding back, not wanting to start an argument.

"Listen," he said, "about Friday night.."

"Oh, I know. I was a big baby. I'm sorry."

"No. Laura, I said some stuff that maybe got misinterpreted."

She bristled. "Misinterpreted? Just stop now. I can tell already this is going to be a fight. Can we just skip it and have a nice night? We don't even have to talk about anything serious. There's too much serious going on right now, anyhow. Like nobody can appreciate a decent manicure anymore. Let's just go, dance, chillax with our friends, you know. Have a good time. All right?"

He nodded, glancing at her, grinning. "All right. Sounds cool to me. You know, but if you want to talk.."

"Well, I don't."

"OK." He turned the wheel, swerving into the darkened lot, and she leaned forward in her seat, scowling out the window.

"Clawd.. is this the school?"

"No."

"Yes, it is. This is the back lot. You know, where nobody parks because of Mr Hackington's gross old truck? Eww, there it is. Look at it."

He pulled open her door, taking her hand as she got out. She continued staring at the ancient truck, appalled.

"Clawd, look at it. It's like a station wagon and a Camaro had a hideous deformed baby." She blinked. "Camaro, right? That's the nasty 1970s one everybody liked?"

"Yep. Right on." He linked his arm through hers, brushing a strand of hair from her face, and they walked through the lot to the back wall of the school, past fire doors and emergency exits.

"Why did you make me get all dressed up to come to the school?" She stared at the building, a sneer on her face. "It's all dark. Clawd, is this like some kind of weird date? I thought we were going out." She stopped, pulling back, nervous.

"We are. Come on." He reached out for her hands. "Trust me."

"All right, but if this turns out to suck, you are totes to blame." She allowed him to pull her close, his hand laying at her waist.

He found the door he'd propped open, and stuck his foot in the door, pulling it open and kicking the rock away. "Come on. Downstairs."

"Down?" She ducked under his arm, and he allowed the door to fall shut.

"Stay close. It's dark. The school's running on generator power right now."

"What?" She stumbled, and he caught her around the waist. They walked down the steps together, one at a time, laughing. "Why is it on emergency power? Clawd, what is going on?"

"Nothing, babe. Come on. It'll be great."

"You're being kind of creepy, you know."

"You love it." He slammed into the steel blast doors at the bottom of the stairs, and they gave way under his bulk. Now they were in a long hall cluttered with old sports equipment, bathed in the red glow of twin EXIT signs at each end. He took her hand, hurrying her through as the zombies began to shuffle forward, having heard the door thud open and shut. "Quick. In here."

They burst through the door at the end, and Clawd slammed the door shut, locking it.

"It's even darker in here," she said, whispering. "Why'd you lock it?"

A series of brilliant fluourescent lamps snapped on in the ceiling, illuminating a room the size of the gymnasium upstairs. Streamers and balloons hung from the exposed support beams, and two of the expensive lighting rigs from the clawditorium had been installed at either end of the room, creating swirling multi-colored patterns on the floor and walls.

"Don't want the zombies to mess up our groove," he said, and she stared at him. "Come on."

"Haven't started yet," Holt said, shouting to them as they crossed the floor, "but we will once the lighting is all set. Gotta create the mood."

"But.. but.." She stared, in a daze. "I heard there were hardly any students left. I heard the police came and arrested a bunch of people."

"Yeah. That happened." He handed her a cup of punch, grinning. "And the rest of us stayed here. We decided to throw a party tonight, since, uh.. since the police are supposed to be back tomorrow for the ones they haven't already taken."

Her eyes widened. She stared at him as he sipped punch. "And your plan is..?"

"We're not going to let them. We plan to fight."

"Oh, Clawd." She reached up to stroke his cheek. "That's so noble."

He grinned. "Uh, no, actually it's really, really stupid.. but I guess we can call it noble, for tonight."


	51. Chapter 51

Heath squirmed in his chair, discomforted beyond description, listening to the ragged cries coming from other interrogation rooms on either side of his own. He had no way of tracking time, but he felt sure he'd been sitting for longer than an hour. At first he'd been terrified; now, he fought hard to explain the noises, avoiding the truth, hoping against hope that it was a trick of his own mind.

The door swung inward, and two officers entered, their expressions neutral. One held a manila folder, placing it on the table, and sat down across from him. "State your full name, please," he said, as the other officer unbuttoned and rolled up his uniform sleeves, positioned between Heath and the door.

"Heath Burns. Listen, could you undo these cuffs? I'm not going anywhere, I swear. They're just really uncomfortable."

Both officers gave him a cold stare. He shrugged, sitting back. "Social security number?"

He recited it, to the best of his recollection.

"Birthdate?"

"You know, I gave all this information to that one guy at school. You don't really need me to repeat it, do you?"

The officer sitting across the table stood, closing the folder. "I suppose not. You're right. It's better that we get down to business." He walked around the table, standing behind Heath. "You know why you're here, right?"

He shrugged one shoulder, nonchalant. "I'm a name on a list? I don't know anything about that dead kid, though. If I did, I would've said something by now, believe me."

"We're trying to get information on one of your fellow students, Heath. One Spectra Vondergeist. Do you know her?"

"Oh, sure. Who doesn't?"

"Is she a friend of yours?"

He shook his head, craning back to look at the officer standing behind him. "Not really. We talk sometimes, you know, but we're not bluddies."

"But the girl," said the officer at the door, and Heath straightened, looking down at him. "The blue girl.."

"Abbey."

He nodded. "She knows Spectra well, doesn't she?"

Heath frowned. "Maybe a bit better than I do, but not much. Spectra's kind of a loner ghoul, you know?"

The officer at his back put both hands on Heath's shoulders. He tried not to tense up, but the gesture made him feel all kinds of creepy. "But you're not, right? I bet you're a real popular guy."

"Yeah, well.. can't deny I'm in demand."

The officer at the door nodded, half-smiling. "I bet you're real popular with that Abbey girl, huh?"

He scoffed, feeling his face go warm.

"Yeah," said the man at the door, nodding to him again, his smile widening. "She likes you, doesn't she?"

The officer behind him squeezed his shoulders. "She's a hot item, that one."

"She's next on our list," said the officer at the door, glancing at a clipboard on the wall. "We thought you might have some ideas how we can get her to talk."

"What? Guys, I don't think she knows anyth-"

The officer at his back slid his arm across Heath's throat, taking him into a casual headlock, pulling back only so far that Heath knew he wouldn't be able to escape. He held Heath, his arm rigid, until breathing became a challenge. In a low voice, the officer said, "How do you know what she knows? Maybe she knows exactly what's going on."

"Maybe she's the murderer, Heath. Did you think of that?"

The officer behind him leaned close. "Did you? You're a smart boy, aren't you? Quit playing dumb."

He coughed, shaking his head. The officer released him, walking back around the table to face him, arms crossed over his brawny chest.

His hands, his whole body, felt tremulous and bathed in waves of heat and cold. He looked down at his shoes on the floor, trying not to flare up in rage and fear. When he felt he'd calmed enough, he looked up at them. "You've got the wrong kids. We don't know anything, man. Sorry."

The officers exchanged a glance. The one by the door nodded, smiling. "You know what? I believe him. He seems like a decent guy."

They turned to Heath, and he stared back at them, dumbfounded. The officer by the door stepped forward. "I'm going to ask you one simple question, and if you give me the wrong answer, I'm going to punch you in the nose. Are we clear?"

"Um," said Heath, frowning. He felt heat creeping up his back again, adrenaline driving him to do something stupid.

"All right. Here goes." The officer moved close, raising one fist inches away from his face. "What's the worst possible thing we could do to her, to make her confess?"

He stared, his mind racing, his face going bright red. "I.. I don't.."

"Oh, come on," said the other officer, chuckling. "A hot-blooded young man like you has probably got all kinds of wicked ideas."

"What's it gonna be? What scares her the most, Heath? Blood? Knives? She seems like the strong silent type; would we have to hurt her to get her to cave?"

"Hey," said the other, stepping forward. "What if we were just real nice to her? What if we told her how pretty she is? You think she'd be flattered into confessing?"

The officer inches from his face smiled, showing gapped, yellowing teeth. "What if I told her all the things we'd like to do to her, Heath? You think that might get her talking? Hey-" he prodded Heath's belly with the toe of his boot, propping one foot on the edge of his chair - "I got an idea. What if we told her all the things you'd like to do to her? How about that?"

He couldn't meet their eyes. He tried to say something, torn between a spiteful response, a lie about Spectra, and a sincere plea on Abbey's behalf, but nothing would come out. The words jumbled in his mouth. Sweat broke out on his face. His hands shook.

"Wrong answer."

He saw it coming and closed his eyes, tensing. The impact of the officer's fist rocked the chair back on its legs. For an instant he was blinded, suffocating, tasting blood as it dripped into his mouth. The chair rocked forward and he realized he'd struck the back of his head against its metal frame. He hung his head, trying to breathe through his nose, spitting blood onto the leg of his pants and the concrete floor, waiting for his vision to return.

He could hear them laughing. "Should I hit him again?"

"No, no. Don't rough him up too much."

"Want me to get her?"

"Are you an idiot, McCarthy? Leave her there. She won't take long. Girls never do."

"Story of my life," said McCarthy, snorting laughter.

Heath exhaled, slow and deep. He felt metal melting down the sides of his hands, dripping to the floor with a hiss. He grabbed onto the officer's leg where it still held his chair down, and the officer let out a bellowing scream as the leg of his pants and then the flesh beneath sizzled in Heath's grip.

He stood from his melting chair, releasing the man's leg, and the officer writhed on the floor, moaning. Beneath him the floor began to smoke. Across the table, the other officer fumbled for his gun. Heath moved through the metal table, a hot knife through butter, and seized the barrel of the gun, liquefying it. He reached for the officer, who shrieked as he jerked open the door and fled down the hall.

Heath dropped the molten lump that had been a gun. In that instant he lost his focus, and the flames burst out of control, exploding from his body with an audible whoomph. The sprinkler system turned on inside the room, and in the hall, a smoke alarm began its shrill screaming.

He stepped out, elbowing open the nearest door along the hall. Scarah, her face bloodied, slumped against the table within. She didn't respond when he called her name, staring forward. He decided not to risk setting the room on fire and moved on. Through a one-way mirror in the hall he saw Howleen, slumped in her seat, straining against her cuffs, watched by two officers. He tried to open the door, slamming one shoulder into it, and it began to burn outwards. The officers leaped up and he dodged between them, sliding across the surface of the table, leaving a slurred line of melted metal in his wake.

Howleen sobbed as he held the cuffs in his hands, trying to melt them, but he couldn't summon the focus he'd had earlier. They deformed, bending, and she tried to pull them from her hands, to no avail.

The officers sprayed him with the fire extinguisher, and he marched towards them, crowding them into the fiery doorway, gathering them into his foam-coated and partially extinguished arms.

He turned back to Howleen once they'd fallen to the floor, brushing foam off his sleeves, and resumed trying to liquefy her cuffs.

"Did.. did you kill them?"

He shook his head, not wanting to think about it. "I don't know. Maybe."

She set her jaw, silent, and he saw a hardness behind the tears in her eyes.

The metal warped in his hands, soft as modeling clay; he pulled the cuffs apart and dropped the remnants to the floor. "Come on."

She stood, holding her arm, and followed him over the crisped bodies in the smoldering doorway. The smoke alarm now blended with the sound of sirens outside. He pressed himself against the locked door across the hall, burning through the cheap door, and stepped through.

At first he thought the room had filled with smoke already, but he quickly realized his flames were causing the layer of ice around the room to vaporize into steam. Abbey stood in the center of the frozen room, broken cuffs dangling from one wrist, her chair already smashed into shards of crystalline blue plastic encased in ice. She cocked her head at him, raising an eyebrow.

"I should've told you," he said, hanging back, "I'm not so great at keeping promises."

"Will forgive you this time." She breezed past him, helping Howleen down the hall. "Must hurry. More police will come soon."

He nodded, pushing past them into the holding room. "There's an emergency exit on this side. Go out that way. I'll be right behind you."

Abbey hurried towards the exit door, ushering Howleen ahead. An alarm sounded as they opened the door, but the noise inside the building drowned it out.

Heath squinted through the smoke, listening to coughing and choking inside the cells. "Everyone down on the floor. I'll get you out."

The station door slammed inwards, and he heard shouting down the hall, towards the main entrance. He grabbed the bars of Frankie's cell first, melting a square of them into stumps and squiggles on the floor. Frankie clambered out, nodding her thanks, and hurried towards the emergency exit. Heath moved on to Gorey's cell, trying to direct heat to his hands as he seized the bars.

"Hurry," she said, and he pulled a face, annoyed.

He burned a two-foot square hole, then moved on. "Your sister's outside," he said, melting through the bars of Clawdeen's cell. The werewolf got to her feet just as he heard the loud report of a gun at his back, and they both saw the bullet ricochet off the intact bars only three inches from his head. "Sorry, Clawdeen. Gotta go."

He sprinted for the open emergency exit as more officers spilled into the room, slamming the door shut behind himself, and took a moment to try and weld the door closed with one fingertip, eyes half-closed. "Go! Go!" he motioned to Gorey and Frankie, and they hurried after Abbey, already a solid hundred yards ahead and hustling. The night surprised him; he'd felt sure it was, at most, late afternoon by now, and for a moment he wondered if he'd lost a day in there.

Chasing after the girls' shadows, he noticed his own yellow-orange glow, and the trail of sparks and embers he left behind.

"Abbey!" he called, racing to catch up. "I need a cool-down, or they're going to spot us."

She nodded, taking aim. Her first shot went wide, striking the side of the emergency exit, crusting over the hinged side of the door. Her second shot struck him on the arm, evaporating into steam at once. The third strike hit him in the belly, and he slowed, winded. She stopped, turning, and shot a blast of ice that coated half his face. He seized the melting mini-glacier, pushing it up into his flaming hair, and the heat began to bank down, hissing.

"Go," he said, waving them on, sinking to his knees in the grass behind the station, trying to savor the sensation of the melting ice against his skin. His pulse pounded in his ears. He took slow, measured breaths, trying to rein himself in, but it did no good. He could feel himself racing ahead, on fire, gasping for air. He could hear, replaying inside his mind, all the officers had said about him, about Abbey; and the fear bubbled up inside him, yielding to anger. The grass around him browned, sizzling, and he got to his feet. Behind him, he could hear officers pounding against the weak welded door, and he could hear more circling around the side, shouting to one another. He turned to face them, giving up on the attempt to bank the fires of his rage.

Gorey appeared at his side, panting. He looked back over his shoulder, and she shook her head. "They're fine. They're getting Howleen to the storm drain." She cracked her knuckles, rolling her neck. "You should go with them."

"What, and leave you here?"

She raised an eyebrow just as the officers came over the ridge, shouting, guns drawn, and dropped into firing position. "Can you melt bullets before they hit you, Heath? I don't think they're prepared for me."

In unspoken agreement, they rushed the crouching officers. Gorey flung herself into the center of their group, claws and fangs bared. Gunshots fired, piercing the night around them. Heath leaped over and across the officers, pulling his flaming body close to theirs, following as they scattered in terror. He circled them three times, trapping them inside a flaming circle with the enraged vampire, until one of them collided with Heath as he tried to flee and fell screaming to the ground, entangled.

Gorey got up, dusting off the ripped knees of her stockings. In the reflected light of his flames, she appeared coated in oil, her body and arms dripping with gore. "That took care of them. Quit messing around. We have to catch up."

"I'm not.. hey! Give me a hand here!" Heath squirmed out from under the panicky officer, grunting, and jogged after her.

She turned, smiling at him, her face smeared with blood, just as the back door to the station burst open. More gunshots burst through the darkness. Heath skidded to a stop sideways as Gorey lurched forward, blood spurting from her neck, and crumpled to the ground with an ugly groan.

He knelt beside her, and one clawed hand grabbed at him. She turned to face him, her voice muffled by the earth. "Go on. I'll be OK."

"No," he said, wanting to help her up, not sure if he should touch her, his hands still flaming. "No, Gorey, come on. I can't leave you here."

"You can." She pushed herself up to her knees, digging at the bloody pit on the side of her neck with one hand until she withdrew the bullet, tossing it away. "And you will, or I'll make you regret it. I already told you once. Get out."

Staring at her face, he realized she meant it. He backed away, watching the officers discover the remains of their comrades along the first ridge. He turned and ran as she faced the officers, snarling.

He hit the street, swinging wide out across the yellow line, huffing. He ran through an intersection, spotting the sharp edges of the high school above the roofs of houses.

Behind him, he heard the wail of a police cruiser. He ducked his head low, leaning forward, picking up speed.

Now he could see the entry to the school, and at the intersection before it, the storm drain where he'd originally entered New Salem a year previous.

"Heath!"

He turned, slowing, and spotted them crouched beside a porch railing, in the shadows. "Stay there!"

The cruiser angled, cutting him off as it rolled up onto the sidewalk. Heath jumped aside, skidding across the hood of the car; paint peeled and hissed away from his form. He jumped off the car as the doors flung open, glancing back at crouching officers behind open doors, guns raised.

Shots fired. He felt one graze his calf, but he kept going, pushing the pain to the back of his mind. He passed the entry to the storm drain, rewarded by the sound of cursing as the officers took to their heels in an effort to catch him.

He hung a left at the intersection, glancing at the darkened school and the moon hanging high beyond it. In that moment he wished, harder than he'd ever thought possible, to be inside the halls of his own school, among friends.

He darted into the darkness between the houses, sliding onto the ground like he was stealing second base, and crept around the edge of a tiny Cape Cod with powder-blue shutters. He pressed his back to the siding, panting, and fought to quiet himself enough to hear his pursuers.

The officers rounded the corner, slowing. "Hold up. Hold up. Jesus."

"Where'd he go?"

"Parker, he's on fire. Just look around. You'll see him."

Heath scooted forward, noticing he'd left a scorch mark on the siding, and pulled his knees up to his chest, trying to be invisible.

He listened to them struggle to breathe, shifting their belts. He heard a click and watched a weak flashlight beam sweep the darkness between houses.

He got to his feet. _Be a badass, Heath. Come on. This is your chance; don't blow it._

"I think I see him," said Parker, and the flashlight wobbled in his direction.

Heath stepped out of the shadows, marching towards them, revelling in the sensation as the flames rolled from his body, licking at the edges of the roof above.

Parker swore, dropping the flashlight, and the second officer went for his gun.

"Hey." Heath put up his hands. "Guys, I don't want to - "

"Over your head," said Parker, and the other man nodded, slackjawed. "Put your hands over your head."

He hesitated between the houses, then raised his hands into the air.

The officers nodded. "Okay," said Parker. "Now, uh.. put out the flames."

He laughed. "Sorry, dudes. No can do."

They shifted, nervous. "Come on, kid. Put 'em out."

He shrugged, shaking his head. He dropped his hands, moving towards them, and they went stiff with fear, backing into the road. "Look, it might be easier for me to douse the fire if you'd put your gun away. Deal?"

The officer shook his head. "No deal."

Heath nodded. "Yeah. I thought as much. Sorry."

He lunged, grabbing the gun as the officer fired in fear. The barrel, pointed skyward, crimped shut in his grip, and the officer tossed it aside with a pained hiss. Heath gave him an angry shove, knocking him into his partner. He ran, darting between the houses once more, and emerged just over the storm drain.

Headlights swept across him as he knelt in the road, struggling to lift the grate. He stood, giving a shrill whistle as a second cruiser swung to a stop across the street. "Yo! Abbey, Frankie, come on! Let's go!"

He knelt again. The driver's side door of the cruiser flung open. Abbey's shadow fell across him as she ran, followed close behind by Frankie and Howleen.

"Children," called a stern voice, and he glanced up, squinting in the brilliance of the cruiser's lights. "Did you forget someone?"

Abbey knelt, one hand absently touching his, the chill cutting through his own heat. "I can't," he said, releasing the grate. "It's too heavy."

"I will get it. You, get Frankie and the little Wolf."

He stood, shielding his eyes, staring towards the cruiser.

"Is that.. ?" Frankie said, crowding close to them, Howleen leaning on her other arm, whimpering.

"Yes," said Van Hellscream, closing his arm around Gorey's throat, one hand holding the point of a stake against her chest. "And if you want your friend to survive the night, you'll come along with me."

Abbey lifted the metal face of the grate off, turning to stare at Van Hellscream. Heath knew that look. He reached out, touching her arm, and shook his head. She frowned, eyeing Gorey.

Frankie stepped back, edging towards the open hole. "Guys," she said in a whisper, "go on."

Abbey shook her head. "No. Will not leave you to this horrible man."

Gorey's head lolled. She looked up at them, baring her bloodied fangs. "Go," she mouthed, and Frankie turned.

"Sorry, guys. No time for discussion." She gave Abbey a shove, sending her stumbling back into Heath, who clung to her. The two of them fell through the opening in the street, landing hard in a tangled heap at the bottom of the rusty ladder, watching dazed as Frankie replaced the grate and stood atop it. "All right, Hellscream," she said. "Just put the stake down, all right?"

Abbey tossed Heath aside, climbing up the ladder, but he grabbed at her. "Shhh. Stop! Stop!" He hung off of her, clinging to her back with his legs, grasping at her hands as she continued to climb.

"Get in the car," Hellscream said, and Frankie looked down, giving them a brief wave. She walked away.

Abbey climbed faster, fingers twining around the metal grate.

"Abbey," he said, hissing, "stop! If we go up there, he'll kill her. He'll probably kill us. Come down."

She stopped, staring, the streetlight sparkling off her skin. She sighed, looking down, and withdrew down the ladder, reluctant.

"Hey," he said, trying not to notice the angry tears in her eyes as she stood, sulking. "We can't help them if we're dead. We have to go back, get friends, come back in force."

She snarled, slamming her fist into the tunnel wall. Ice expanded outward from the impact in a white-blue sheet, crackling. "I am force! I will break them!"

He nodded, stepping close. "I know. I know you are. But please listen to me. We need, like, an army to win this."

She hung her head, avoiding his eyes, arms crossed over her chest. Then, to his surprise and chagrin, she burst into tears.

"Aw, Abbey, don't cry. Come on."

He startled back as ice exploded from her palms, coating the tunnel floor and walls, glistening across the ceiling. She stomped one foot, creating a chasm that spread halfway up the tunnel wall, and turned to punch the wall at her back. Rock and ice crumbled around her fist, scattering across the floor. He saw blood on her knuckles when she drew her hand back. She turned, erecting a series of pillars under the street, twice as thick around as Heath's body.

"Abbey," he said, his breath a cloud of steam. He took hesitant steps towards her, afraid he might slip and fall.

Her tears had frozen on her face, jagged stalactites hanging from her jaw. She ignored him, busy filling the empty space between the pillars with thick, opaque walls of ice. The rusted ladder shrieked as she swept ice across it, warping as it froze. The room became illuminated, light glittering off the walls, refracted through four feet of solid ice.

He took a deep breath, seizing her wrists, and used her solidity to pull himself in front of her. She refused to look at him, liquid tears still trickling from her eyes, creating a ridge of frost along her lower eyelid. He closed his eyes and focused inward, drawing up as much heat as he could. At first there was nothing - just the chill sensation of his hands on her wrists, the slight muscular twitch in her forearms each time she swept another foot of ice across the room - and then he faced his own anger at Van Hellscream, at the normies in general, at the shitty day he'd had in their hands. All the humiliation and the fear those officers had stirred up in him, threatening her. The vivid memory of finding her, triumphant, in the midst of rescuing herself yet still pleased to see him.

His senses brought him back to the moment, keenly aware of his hands on her wrists and the proximity of their bodies. He felt the familiar rush of adrenaline as his neck and hair flamed up, and he opened his eyes.

She glanced at him, breathing heavily, her expression guarded, her body tense.

He exhaled steam, realizing they were encased in an icy hollow of her making.

"In mountain home," she said, her eyes brilliant, "yeti do not abandon friends captured on journey. Is not honorable."

"Sure," he said, nodding, at a complete loss for words. It wasn't a lack of things to say; he had a million things he wanted to say - none of which he could put into words, none of which he felt she was ready to hear. Finally he settled on one statement. "We'll come back, I promise."

He put his hands on her face, and the frozen trails of her tears melted under his palms, rivulets of water running down his arms. He brushed the frost from her eyes with one thumb. She held his hand to her cheek, and he gave up on words. The gap had become too wide for words now. He leaned into her, feeling her sharp intake of breath just before their lips met. A flicker of doubt rose in his mind, but then she pressed back, the edge of one fang nipping at his upper lip, and he knew it had been the right choice.

She straightened, pressing him against the wall of ice at his back, her hands caressing his neck and shoulders, the tip of her tongue teasing at him. He heard and felt the ice around them liquefy by levels, slowly soaking his clothes, but he ignored the ominous cracking sounds, too enveloped in enjoying the contrast between his body and hers. He slipped down the melting wall, losing his footing. She grabbed for his jacket, laughing, and pulled him to his feet.

"When?"

"Right now?" he said, and his flames licked at the ceiling, raining ice water down on them both. The flames hissed and spat.

"No," she said, smirking, "not that. When will we come back?"

"Tonight. As soon as we can gather enough people to come back with us. As soon as possible."

She nodded, straightening the front of his jacket. "Then we must go."

"Oh. Yeah." He stood, clearing his throat, and moved towards the shield of ice coating the tunnel exit. "What about.."

"There will be time for that later. Also, if you tell anyone I cried, will give you cold shoulder for rest of school year."

"Your secret's safe with me, Abbmeister," he said, and pressed his palms against the ice wall, leaning in until they began to hiss and steam.

"Yes? Here is one more. Think maybe I like you, Heath Burns. You are good at knowing when girl needs kiss. Do not let it go to your head."


	52. Chapter 52

"Tonight I will be attending an antique dealers' convention in Devil's Lake." Ramses eyed his youngest daughter across the table as one of his jackal-headed servants diligently cut his food into micro-bite-size pieces. "Nefera will join me."

"Ugh, Daddy, do I have to?"

Their fathers' eyes flashed. He turned to Nefera with a hiss. "I will not tolerate whining at my table. You are the heir, and you will join me at the convention tonight."

Nefera slouched in her seat, rolling her eyes, and poked at the food on her plate.

Ramses returned his attention to Cleo, straightening in his seat. "I trust you will act in a responsible and mature manner while we are gone, and there is no need for me to go into a detailed explanation of my expectations?"

"No, Daddy. I understand." Cleo sat back, glancing at her sister and her father, and said, "I suppose I'll just re-organize my closet and play with Hissette."

He nodded with a grunt of appreciation, his eyes lingering on Cleo, then turned to his meal.

Nefera pulled a face at her sister, sneering, and poked at her food. "I'm full," she said after a moment. "I'm going to get ready for the convention. How much time do we have?"

Ramses dabbed at his mouth with a cloth napkin. "They will begin at eight. I expect you to be ready by seven-thirty."

"Only two hours? That's positively barbaric!"

Her father took a sip of wine.

"Well," said Nefera, crossing her arms in a huff, "I suppose I'll do the best I can, under the circumstances."

"Good girl." He watched Nefera leave the room, hands folded beneath his plate. He murmured to one of his servants, who took Nefera's plate into the kitchen under his watchful eye. He resumed eating, then, after a moment, said, "Has Nefera ceased eating once more?"

Cleo shrugged one shoulder. "I wouldn't know."

"It is not wise for one of her age to refuse food. For her, it is necessary fuel. Does she not understand this?"

"It's her friends, Daddy. She thinks she's fat and they're telling her if she doesn't eat she'll be skinny."

He scoffed, lifting his wineglass. "If she does not eat, she will cease moving altogether. She should not be taking advice from monsters who do not understand her unique biology or her history." He took a long drink, then sighed, sitting back in his chair. "I am proud, my daughter, to see you enduring with strength and calm. I have decided to return your phone, on one condition."

Cleo heaved a sigh of relief, sitting up, attentive. "Oh, thank you! What is it? No phone calls after 10pm? No texting outside our area?"

He drew the blue-and-gold iCoffin from the pocket of his robe, sliding it across the table towards her. "You must not invite anyone over, or speak of private family matters. For example, if a friend calls and asks if you are home alone tonight, you are to tell them no. Do you understand?"

She swept up the phone, overjoyed, and nodded to him. "Of course. That's fine."

"And when I call, you must not answer on speakerphone."

Cleo sagged. "Oh, but Daddy.."

"No. It is improper for a lady of your stature to air her personal and family business to anyone within earshot. I would not embarrass you in such a way. I insist you stop doing it to me, or I will take your phone permanently, and you will be responsible for obtaining a new one without my assistance."

"Like.. what? Getting a job? Daddy, that's so unfair!"

He shrugged, and she could see the vague shape of a smile on his shadowed face. "It is perfectly fair. Now, if you will excuse me, I must ready myself as well. Remember: invite no one, and tell no one we have gone."

Cleo nodded, staring at her phone as he rose and left the table. It took a moment to power on and retrieve all the information she'd missed. After a minute, it chirruped to alert her to new messages, and she checked the notification: 46 new texts and five voicemails. She grinned to herself, giddy, and found Deuce's face in her contacts list, dialing him.

It rang several times, then went to voicemail. "Uh, hey. This is Deuce's phone, so.. you know what to do, dude."

"Deuce, it's Cleo. Daddy gave me back my phone, isn't that fantastic? Give me a call when you get this. I love you. OK, bye." She smooched into the mic and hung up, her enthusiasm dampened a bit. Then she scrolled through, finding Ghoulia's number.

The phone picked up on the second ring.

"Ghoulia? It's Cleo. Daddy gave me back my phone! How are things at the school?"

There was a moment of silence, then Ghoulia said, "Uuuggghhh."

"What do you mean, you're having a party? You can't have a party! I'm not there to be seen at it! Ghoulia, call it off, right now!"

Ghoulia sighed. "Uugghhh. Rraaugghh?"

"Well, of course I remember. But I'm stuck here at home. How am I supposed to -"

"Rrarrgghh. Uuuuggghh!"

The phone clicked in her ear, and she heard the familiar melody as the line closed. Cleo stared at her phone, jaw dropped, indignant.

She dialed Deuce a second time. Again, it went to voicemail.

"Deuce! Oh my Ra. Ghoulia just hung up on me. Can you believe it? Ugh. I am so angry right now. Are you going to that party tonight? Why does your phone keep going to voicemail? I hope you're all right. Miss you. Love you. Byeeee."

Annoyed, she went through the notifications on her phone. Almost a dozen were from the Ghostly Gossip, alerting her to updates on the site. She breezed through the old text messages. They were mostly worthless, although Deuce had sent a few that were definitely worth saving. Then she browsed to the Ghostly Gossip, intent on seeing what her classmates were up to.

The page loaded with an image of Robecca and Venus embracing in the science hallway. There was no caption and no story. Behind that, several images of a naked-looking stone room, most likely in the catacombs, as Ghoulia, Lagoona, Gil, and Jinafire worked to put up decorations and move furniture, also without any context. Cleo frowned at the phone, suspicious and confused. A photo of Jackson and Frankie being awkward in the midst of conversation in the same room. A photo of Deuce in the stairwell..

Cleo froze, staring. She sat up, bringing the phone close to her face.

"Cleo! Did you borrow my new wrap skirt? I need it!"

"No, I did not, and I don't think you want to look unprofessional for Daddy's colleagues. Wear something respectable for once." She squinted harder, intent on making the picture look like anything else. Now, with eyes almost closed, it looked like a Grecian statue with moss growing on its face. Not Rochelle kissing Deuce.

She closed the browser and dialed Deuce a third time. When voicemail picked up, she breathed a sigh of relief. "Deuce," she said after the prompt, hissing. "We need to talk. I am fairly sure you know why. You.. you lying, low-down SNAKE!"

Cleo stood, slipping the phone into her purse. Nefera blocked her in the doorway, a venomous smile on her face. "Did I overhear correctly? Could there be trouble in paradise?"

"Oh, it's nothing, I'm sure. Just a little misunderstanding." Cleo frowned, surveying her sister's outfit. "That's my bracelet."

"This? No, it isn't. Great-aunt Khomenra gave it to me, remember?"

She shrugged. "Whatever. That skirt really brings out your hips."

"What?!"

"No, it's good. You'll make a very maternal impression at the convention."

"Maternal," Nefera echoed, her face reddening.

"Girls," said Ramses, standing in the hall behind Nefera. "Stop this bickering at once. Nefera, I am surprised at you."

Nefera turned, already pouting. "She started it!"

"Go to the chariot, daughter. We must hurry." He turned to Cleo as Nefera stormed out the door, muttering. "Cleo.. I am trusting you. We will return before dawn. Please go to sleep at a reasonable hour."

"I will, Daddy." She followed him to the door, waving to the chariot waiting in the circular driveway. "Have a good time!"

Cleo closed the door behind them, chewing her lower lip in thought, and listened to the rhythmic marching of the Anubians carrying her father and Nefera away.

Then, firming her resolve, she went to her father's study.


	53. Chapter 53

Ghoulia knocked twice at the door to the janitor's closet, tea tray balanced on one arm, before nudging it open with the toe of her shoe.

"Oh, Ghoulia. How thoughtful of you." The Headmistress sat up in her makeshift bed, setting aside the book she'd been reading. "You really shouldn't have."

"Uuuhhh," said Ghoulia with a lopsided smile, shrugging. She nudged aside a row of cleaners on one shelf and placed the tea tray in the center.

Behind her, the Headmistress cleared her throat. "I assume the party has started already?"

Ghoulia nodded, pouring out a cup for the Headmistress and a cup for herself. There was a third; she'd been expecting Rochelle. She held up the sugar bowl, cocking her head.

"Two, please. Might I ask you a question about social propriety?"

"Uughhh?" She handed the Headmistress her cup, taking a seat on an overturned bucket beside the cot.

"Do you think, given how my image has changed to the students, I should make an appearance? I try to attend all school events and I feel odd, staying here while I know.."

Ghoulia sipped her tea, eyes narrowing in thought, and sat back. "Uuuhh," she said at last, shaking her head.

"I see." The Headmistress took a sip from her cup, her expression troubled. "And is that because of the.. the recent events with New Salem? I'm sure the students are unhappy with me. Can you tell me.."

The zombie reached out, putting a hand on the Headmistress's own, and looked her in the eye. They sat in silence for a moment. Then Ghoulia drew back. Finishing her tea, she placed the empty cup on the tray. "Rraaagghhh."

"Oh, that's fine. You can leave it. Thank you." The Headmistress straightened on her cot, her face still etched with worry. "Goodnight, Ghoulia."

"Rrarruuggh." She closed the door behind her, heaving a sigh of empathy for the Headmistress.

Smoothing the skirt of her dress, Ghoulia started towards the stairwell, already thinking ahead to the party waiting in the catacombs.

She paused, squinting down the hall, and stepped into the shadows behind one of the massive pillars.

Someone crouched at the door to the Headmistress's office, glancing around. The door popped open, and they stepped into the darkness within.

Something bumped Ghoulia's shoulder. She turned to see Twyla, one finger to her lips, motioning towards the opened door with her head. Ghoulia nodded, starting across the hall as Twyla faded back into the shadows.

She lingered at the doorway, debating how obvious she wanted to appear, before stepping fully into the doorframe. Inside the room, the Headmistress's desk drawers had been pulled open and partially emptied. Her file cabinet was in disarray, papers tossed out, landing somewhere between their original place and the floor. She could just make out the pale green glow of Twyla's hair and her big, glowing eyes in the darkness at the corner of the room.

The intruder paused, cursing, and Ghoulia stepped into the room. She didn't hit the lights, for fear of somehow banishing Twyla from the space, but her presence did enough: whoever it was stood, straightening, and said, "Who's there?"

"Us," Twyla whispered from behind him, as Ghoulia grunted and gave a little wave. "What are you doing in here?"

"Oh.. I'm sorry, I made such a mess. I'll clean it up later, I promise. I'm trying to find that skull the Headmistress used to keep on her bookshelf. You know the one."

Ghoulia and Twyla exchanged a glance, frowning.

"It'd be just the thing for the decor downstairs, you know? And everybody recognizes it, and I thought, you know, since the Headmistress isn't showing up herself.."

Twyla appeared at his elbow, her expression doubtful but amused. "You know that sounds awful sketchy, right?"

He sighed, slumping. "Yeah. I know. I didn't want anybody to know."

Ghoulia opened the closet behind the door, reaching up onto the shelf, and took down the heavy skull, cradling it in her arms. "Uuugghh?"

"Yes! That's the one! Oh, man. See? It's perfect!"

Twyla shrugged. "Come on. Safety in numbers, remember?"

They walked out into the hall. Ghoulia eyed him in the dim light. He was short, with an almost silly-looking poof of dark hair, and he had a face that seemed to be smiling even when relaxed. He reached for the skull, fingers twitching, eyes bright. "Hey, let me carry it, huh? Looks heavy."

"Nuh." Ghoulia held it up, smirking at him.

He frowned. "Well, all right. Maybe later. You ghouls are going to the party, right?"

"Wouldn't miss it," said Twyla, heavy on the irony. "Hey.. haven't I seen you somewhere? Are you a friend of Clawd's?"

His eyes darted to her, sharp and brilliant. "What makes you say that?"

"I think I saw you at the Wolf's house. Last week sometime? Yeah. I'm a friend of Howleen's."

"Twyla, right?" He smiled, extending a hand. "Yeah, I've heard her talk about you."

"Oh really? What'd she say?"

He shrugged as they shook hands, eyes twinkling. "Not as much as I'd like to know. I'm Puck. Trust me, ladies, this is going to be an unforgettable night."


	54. Chapter 54

Heath slowed, reaching for Abbey, scowling. "Hey. Do you hear that?"

She paused, tilting her head. "Yes. Sound like stampeding yak."

He shook his head, looking away. "No.. it's too rhythmic.."

Far down the tunnel, muffled by distance and interference, they both heard a continuous thumping. And then the screaming began.

He ran ahead down the tunnel, tracing the sound around the corner and down, one hand on the tunnel wall, tracking the noise as it intensified. The stone tunnel ended at a steel door, across which someone had spray-painted DO NOT OPEN. There were no opening mechanisms on it, aside from hinges; no knob, no pressure-release bar, nothing. He could feel the screams and the pounding when he pressed his palms against the steel. He slammed his shoulder into it, but it didn't budge. Backing up, he ran at it a second time. He stood back, rubbing his shoulder, and Abbey surveyed the door. She rolled her neck, and they ran at it side by side.

Together they burst through the door into a large concrete-walled room. For a moment they stood dazzled, hands up, overwhelmed by noise and flashing lights in the darkness. Bass throbbed up through their feet, and in the smoke people moved, screaming, jumping up and down. White lights pulsed through the haze of a smoke machine. Red and purple lights swirled across the walls and floor. Streamers and balloons hung suspended from exposed steel beams across the ceiling.

"Is a dance," Abbey said, her voice thick with disgust and relief, panting, and Heath nodded, taking her hand.

"Hey!" The voice came over the speaker system beside them, loud and familiar. "Is that my man Heath Burns? Get your hot ass over here, man!"

Heath spotted his cousin Holt behind the turntables and gave a nervous wave.

"Holy marble hornets!" Holt stepped down from the booth, pulling Heath into an embrace, and offered Abbey a friendly handshake. "How the hell did you get here?" He pulled up his headphones without waiting for a response, sliding closer to the mic. "Boils and ghouls, we've got a special guest couple here tonight. Put your claws together and make some noise for Burns, Heath Burns, and Abbey Bominable. New Salem PD couldn't hold them for long!"

A spot swung across to fix on them; Heath waved, slicking back his hair, as the students in the room gave a cheer.

Holt punched his shoulder, grinning. He took a swig from a tall glass of amber liquid on the booth. "In honor of Heath and Abbey's return, we're going to hear 'Burn' next. Get out on the floor and let's light it up!" He took the phones off one ear, covering the mic, and leaned across the tables. "Hey, man, I'll catch up with you in a bit, huh? Go get your groove on."

"Right," Heath nodded. "See you." He followed Abbey between the dancers - he spotted Scarah, Hoodude, Deuce, and Robecca, all of them a blur as they hurried across the floor to the snack table. Staring at all the foods laid out, he turned to Abbey, who was already busy piling tasty treats onto a paper plate.

"Have not eaten more than crusty bread and tap water for two days," she said, biting into a leg of fried goblin. "Do not give me the hard time."

He scoffed, picking up a plate of his own, and followed her lead. "Bet I eat more than you."

"Could eat entire herd of healthy yak. You are on, flame-boy."

"Oh my ghoul, Abbey?!" Draculaura threw herself between Abbey and a plate of booberry pie, grabbing her friend's arm. Abbey ignored her, pulling the smaller girl along as she placed two slices atop a heap of french fries. "How did you get here? I thought you were in jail!"

"We were." Heath tossed aside the bones of a hot wing, licking his fingers. "We totally broke out."

Clawd eyed them, doubtful. "Without any of the others?"

Abbey jabbed at his chest with a celery stalk. "We try to rescue others. OK? Was very difficult."

Heath nodded. Leaning towards Clawd, he said, "She's pretty upset we couldn't bring everyone with us, but, dude, we barely got out of there at all."

"You have to tell us everything," Draculaura said, hopping with excitement.

"Definitely." She stepped aside, bothered, and they saw Puck standing behind her, hands jammed in the pockets of his hoodie, a wicked grin on his face. "You broke out? That must have been quite a battle. How many did you kill?"

Clawd and Draculaura turned back to Heath, stunned and curious all at once. Heath finished gnawing the meat off a second hot wing before giving a shrug. "I don't know. Two, maybe? Four? It's kind of a blur."

Abbey frowned at Puck. "Is not worth bragging about. Death of our enemies is not source of pride."

"Oh, but it is. It's a victory for monsters everywhere." Puck nudged Heath with his elbow, his dark eyes sparkling in the swirling lights. "Tell me about it. What did you do?"

"What did they do?" Clawd said, eyeing Heath, and Draculaura nodded.

Abbey and Heath exchanged a glance. "Well.. they are definitely not nice people," Heath said.

"They ask us same questions," Abbey said. "Over and over, for days. Wrong answer, you get punished. Right answer, maybe you not punished so much."

Clawd paled, crossing his arms over his chest. "Punished, like, how?"

Abbey shook her head, devouring forkfuls of pie and french fries, her expression dark.

"Wow, Abbey, slow down," Draculaura said with a nervous giggle.

"Don't ignore me." Clawd reached for her arm and she recoiled, baring her fangs. "Tell me what you mean, 'punished'."

Abbey stared at him, chewing. Then, her mouth half-full of pie, she said, "Why is there party now? Friends, sisters, might be dead. Why party? Why not prepare?"

Puck rocked back on his heels, looking up at Clawd, eyebrows raised.

Heath looked from Clawd to Abbey, taking a step in front of the werewolf. "Why not party? We've been through so much. Maybe we need a little stress relief."

Her eyes narrowed at him. "Stress is coming from New Salem. Fix New Salem, fix stress. Party is waste of time and energy." She licked ketchup and salt off her fingers, tossing the empty paper plate in the trash. "Could be sneaking into their town under cover of night. Fixing problem now. Also, I have won the contest of eating."

"What?" Heath grabbed for his own plate, cursing under his breath.

"You raise a good point," said Puck, nodding at Abbey. "But then, you're a very courageous monster. Perhaps your friends aren't so brave."

"Now hold on," Clawd said.

"No." Abbey shook her head, arms crossed over her chest. "I do not make nice with weak monsters."

"Are you calling me a coward?"

Draculaura rolled her eyes, tugging at Clawd's arm. "No one is calling you a coward. Come on, let's go dance."

"I am." Puck levelled his gaze with Clawd's, his smile all but disappearing. "Why are you here? These two faced torture and death itself to get here, and you're refusing to take on the fight for the sake of your own family. What is that, if not cowardice?"

Clawd bristled, teeth bared. Draculaura sneered at Puck. "Oh, who invited you, anyways? You're such a jerk. Why don't you go, if it's so important?"

His dark eyes flashed, then he straightened, adjusting his hoodie. "That's not a bad idea. If I rescued his sisters, do you suppose they would owe me?"

"You son of a bitch." Clawd lunged, swinging a fist. It connected with Puck's cheek, snapping his head up and to the side, startling him back a few steps. Abbey stepped up, arms out, creating a barrier between the two boys. Heath moved to Clawd's side, wiping hot sauce from his mouth with the edge of his shirt, fists up.

"Hey, guys." Deuce cocked his head, standing just at the edge of the dance floor, Robecca just behind him. "What's going on?"

Puck rubbed his cheek, his venomous smile returning. "Nothing. I was just leaving."

"Well, don't go off in a huff," Robecca said, but the boy ignored her, turning away. She looked at Clawd. "What happened here?"

Draculaura shook her head. "Don't mind him. He's an ass. Clawd, honey, are you all right?"

Clawd nodded, sulking.

Abbey stepped closer to Clawd. "I will go with you, back to New Salem, to rescue your sisters."

He looked up at her. "When?"

She shrugged. "Now? Whenever you are ready."

Clawd looked at Draculaura on his arm as Deuce nodded. "Me too, man. Count me in."

"Yeah. Me too." Invisi-Billy appeared at the edge of the table.

"But you're all on the list."

Deuce nodded, shrugging. "So what? All that means is that New Salem thought they could take uswithout any punishment. We got lucky."

"Seems fitting to me," said Invisi-Billy, chewing on a handful of baby carrots, "we should be the ones to break the others out."

Clawd shook his head, clasping one hand over Draculaura's. "We can't. There aren't enough of us."

Abbey nodded. "Will need numbers and force to take them out. I will gather others. Do not worry."

"Ohh yeah!" Holt's voice rang through the room. "Gonna put on a few slow dance grooves for you kids while I take a break. Don't go away! We've still got six hours until sunrise!"

A cheer went up on the dance floor as Abbey turned to Heath. "So?"

He shrugged, chewing. "So what?"

"Coming to New Salem for rescue mission?"

Heath swallowed, avoiding her gaze. "Well, uh.. actually, Abbey, I.."

"Burns!" Holt slung an arm across Heath's shoulders, stumbling sideways into him, almost knocking them both down. "Am I glad to see you. How's my Frankie Fine doin'? She still in the slammer?"

Abbey crossed her arms, waiting for an answer. Heath's nose wrinkled at the smell of alcohol on Holt's breath. "Dude, have you been drinking?"

"Been drinking? I am, I believe, drunk. Or as bro Jackson might say, in-tox-uh-mah-cated."

"Yeah, and you'd better slow down, because I'm not driving your drunk ass to the hospital tonight." Clair stepped around Holt as he sighed, her arms crossed, and gave the two of them a shy smile. "Besides, don't you know how alcohol poisoning works?"

Holt turned to her. "You know, you worry about Mr Sexy Specs a little too much."

"Opinion, not fact."

"Now if you don't mind, Heath and I have some guy stuff to discuss, so. Excuse us." He pulled Heath off into the shadowed area to the left of the table, stumbling over his own feet.

Clair shook her head, turning to Abbey. "Hey. It's, uh, really impressive that you broke out."

"You are normie girl, yes?"

"Yep. I'm one of them, anyhow."

"How did you get inside school?"

"The same way you did. Through the catacombs." She shrugged, brushing hair out of her face. "It's how Jackson and I usually meet up."

Abbey looked over at the two boys, laughing, shoving one another. "You are Jackson's friend?"

Clair sighed. "I know, I don't know why I'm here either. Holt and I.. I guess we're friends, but with Jackson, it's.. different."

"Ah." Abbey nodded. "Yes. Sometimes I am friends with Heath. Other times, I wish him to be in path of stampeding yak." She turned, offering Clair a small but sincere smile. "Tonight I have not wished for yak stampede yet, so, is good."

"Hey, y'all. Mind if I mingle for a bit?" Operetta stood off to Abbey's side, stirring the drink in her hand with a swizzle stick. "Gosh, that Manny Taur just will not leave me alone. It's enough to make a girl wonder why she left her cozy little opera house, I swear. How are y'all doin'?"

"Am bored and disgusted with display of typical teenage behavior. Is shallow and self-centered."

Operetta raised an eyebrow. "I hear ya, sister. Ain't none of the right boys asked me to dance neither. How about you? Don't think we've met. I'm Operetta."

"Clair." They shook; Abbey watched Clair draw back, grinning at her nervousness. "I'm a friend of Jackson's."

"Oh yeah?" Operetta chuckled, taking a sip of her drink. "Speak of the devil," she said, as the boys stood, Holt staggering and leaning on Heath for support. "I'm not much of a fan as far as Jackson goes. He's too strait-laced for my tastes. But oooooh-weee, that Holt! He just sets my heart to racing, he does."

"He does?" Clair echoed, mystified.

"Oh, sure. Just look at that hair. The way he walks. And have you heard his music? I mean, his original stuff? He's got a voice like an angel, that boy." She shook her head, fanning herself with one hand.

Heath hurried to Abbey, avoiding the others. "We need to talk for a minute. Alone."

She nodded, following him, as Holt approached the other girls.

"Hey, Operetta."

"Hey yourself, hot stuff." Operetta ignored the look Clair gave her. "You should come by my place later. Got some new mixes I been workin' on."

"I'd love to hear it. Just made some plans with Heath, though, so.. I'll give you a call."

"Sure." Operetta gave him a wink and a wave, strolling back out to the dance floor. "See you then."

"What the hell was that?"

Holt made a dismissive grunt. "We're just friends, Clair. It's not like you're interested. Right?"

"Please. Just.. keep in mind that you share a body.."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Jeez. Mom."

Clair frowned, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jeans. "Shut up."

Abbey stared at Heath, her expression doubtful. "Say again. Am confused."

Heath sighed. "Look. Holt wants us to go into New Salem and cause some real damage. You know? Kind of a pranking run."

"Is very bad idea," said Abbey, still frowning.

"No, it's an awesome idea! And I want you to come with us."

She cocked her head at him. "I will go back for friends. Not fun."

"Well, we can rescue them, too, if you want. I'll set the station on fire, and you can.."

"Friends are inside." She narrowed her eyes at him. "People tell me you are stupid, but I don't listen. Maybe I should."

"Come on, Abbey. We make an awesome team."

She shook her head, looking away. "No. Is bad idea, Heath Burns, and will lead to getting hurt, maybe getting killed."

"So? Rescuing the others might end the same way."

"At least then I die with honor."


	55. Chapter 55

"Wait." Clair ran along the dirt road, stumbling over rocks in the darkness. "Guys, wait!"

Heath's laughter floated back to her. He turned, waving. "Come on, catch up!"

She huffed, wheezing, and slowed. Catching her breath, she looked ahead, watching them casually stroll through the darkness. They were easy to make out: both were in flames, two mobile torches in the night, and Holt's voice rang out as he sang snatches of favorite songs.

She shook her head, still gasping for air, and lunged towards them, sprinting.

Holt paused, turning to his cousin. "Man, what is that? Are you beatboxing?"

"Yeah. You know."

"No. No beatboxing. For one, it's totally wrong for the song - do you even know this song?"

"No. I thought it sounded good."

"Man, the 1980s called. They want their cheap drum machine sound effects back."

"Shut up! I'm good. Just listen."

Holt shook his head, laughing. Clair swerved around his left side, colliding into him, and he staggered back, falling on his back in the dirt. "Whoa, hey!"

"What the hell?" Heath said, leaning down to pull Clair up by her arm. She flinched away, patting out the flames on her sleeve, glaring at him.

"Holt.. stop. You can't do this. You're going to hurt people." She sagged, one hand on her chest, gasping.

He shoved her away, struggling to his feet. He wobbled, staggering, and fell back into the dirt, scowling. "Hell yeah I'm gonna hurt people!" Heath reached down, pulling him up, and they faced her, Holt's face contorted with fury. "They hurt my people. It's called payback!"

"Yeah!" Heath punched the air, flames roaring. "Payback, bitch!"

Clair shook her head, taking a few steps back. The heat was too much. She could feel it on her face, her hands, tightening her skin, threatening to burn her.

"Hey.." Holt reached for her, and she shrank back further, glaring. "I don't expect you or Jackson to understand. You don't know what it's like. Just back off and let me do my thing."

Infuriated, she ran at him, shoving him backwards. "Don't you know you could kill him? Don't you care?!"

"Who?" Holt swiped a hand across his mouth, then nodded. "Oh, him. Man, that boy's barely alive as it is. I'm doing him a favor."

" 'Oh, him.' " She mimicked him, tears springing to her eyes. "Let me tell you something. You're going to take his life in your hands like this? I can destroy you. I can make you disappear, Holt. I figured it out."

Heath gave a nervous laugh. "Dude, what are you talking about?"

"Nerd shit," Holt said, nodding.

"Yeah. Nerd shit." Clair wiped at her eyes. "I'm going to talk to your dad, and when I come back, you're going to wish you never messed with Jackson Jekyll."

Holt stifled his laughter. "I'm shakin'. Come on, cuz. We've got burning to do."

Heath lingered as Holt walked away, watching Clair shake with rage.

"Come on," said Holt, and he turned, jogging to catch up with his cousin, his eyes still fixed on the girl behind them as she turned away.


	56. Chapter 56

Deuce looked at the small group of students clustered around the table, nodding to himself. "OK. Everybody got it? You understand the plan? Speak up now."

"No problem here, sugar." Operetta smiled, elbowing Abbey at her side. "We got it cold, right, ice queen?"

The corner of Abbey's mouth quirked upwards. "I get. Is joke. Did not know you were funny."

"Oh honey, I am hilarious."

Deuce rapped his knuckles on the table. "Great. Spectra, stay close to me, all right? Once we get up there I'll need you on point for surveillance. Don't get spotted."

"Got it."

"Twyla, you take up the rear. Stay hidden. You're our lookout."

"Sure. OK."

"This is so exciting," Draculaura whispered, giddy, as they followed Deuce through the steel emergency door. "Oh my ghoul. I can't believe we're actually doing this!"

"Hey. Hold up." Clawd reached for Draculaura's arm, propping his foot in the door. Twyla stepped around and between them, avoiding their eyes, apologetic. "Laura, hon.. I think you should stay here."

"What?" She frowned, watching their friends go around the corner and down into the darkness of the catacombs. "But Clawd, I want to go with you!"

"I know. I know. But I don't want you getting hurt."

"Keep up," Deuce called, and Clawd whimpered, eyeing Draculaura.

She put her hands on her hips, eyes narrowed. "Clawd Wolf. Are you telling me I have to stay here like a good little girl so that I am safe?"

He winced, doubtful. "Maybe?"

"You know, that sounds an awful lot like my father. Don't you think?"

"Um.."

She grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him close. "I may be small and cute, but I am not weak. Got it?"

"Sweetfang, I don't think you are. I'm just.."

"Worried? Trying to protect me?" She scoffed, pushing past him. "I will be fine. Come on! This will be fun!"

Spectra appeared in the mouth of the tunnel, snapping a quick pic with her phone, and Clawd hissed.

"This is kind of a bad time!"

"Sorry. If you're going to stay here, then you should close the door."

He slid his foot out of the opening, allowing the door to fall shut. "I'm not staying. Neither is she."

"Well, come on then. We're waiting."

He sneered, annoyed, and followed Draculaura down into the tunnel. "What?" he snapped, as Spectra floated along behind them.

"Nothing. I just.. um. I understand your sisters are in there.."

"Yep." He smoothed his hair back, heaving a cleansing sigh. "So?"

"So.. don't you wonder why they took your sisters?"

"Spectra," said Twyla, stepping out of the shadows behind them, but the ghost ignored her warning tone.

"To be honest, I hadn't given it much thought. I figure they're just arresting whoever looks normie enough to pass. Isn't that what Lagoona and Venus were saying?" He shrugged. "There's got to be some truth to that."

"Well.. but you're on their list, too, aren't you?"

Clawd bristled. "Have you got something to say to me, Spectra?"

She glanced back at Twyla. "No.. I just.. I want to know who you think did it. The murder, I mean. The cause of all this."

He raised an eyebrow at her, shaking his head. "No. You don't want to know."

"Oh, but I do. Draculaura?" She floated ahead, zooming up alongside the vampire girl. "Who do you think did it?"

"Uh," said Draculaura, looking back at Clawd. "Well, actually.."

"A lot of the evidence points to you," Twyla said, trying to spare the others from saying it.

Spectra glared at her for a moment, her expression more sad than angry. She shook her head. "It wasn't me."

"This isn't a good time to discuss it," Clawd said in a growl.

"There never is. There never will be," said Twyla, staring at the stone floor of the tunnel as they walked.

"Clawd.. how do we know it wasn't you?"

"Me?" He laughed. "How do we know it wasn't, oh, I don't know, Holt? The Headmistress? One of the werecats, maybe? Who knows?" He cupped his hands around his mouth. "Do any of you know who the murderer is?"

"Shut up," Deuce said, hissing, and there was a murmured chorus of agreement from the others.

"What is happening?" Abbey said, slowing to walk alongside Draculaura.

"Oh, nothing. Spectra is just stirring up gossip again."

Spectra gasped. "How dare you! I am not a gossip!"

"Spectra." Abbey looked her in the eye. "You are making the problems with your idle chit and chat. Go up ahead. Deuce will be needing you soon."

"Fine." She zoomed ahead, passing through the stone wall to catch up ahead.

"Thanks," said Clawd, and Abbey shrugged.

"Now is not good time to throw accusation. Now we must be friends, solid like wall of ice." She held up a fist, and Clawd bumped his own fist against it, grinning, shaking off the frost created by the collision.

"Guys, come on," Deuce called, and they hurried to catch up.


	57. Chapter 57

Deuce touched the tunnel walls, rimed with salty deposits. Chunks of frost slumped in the corners, still melting. "What happened down here?"

Abbey walked beyond him into the chamber and began climbing the twisted ladder, rooted to the floor by thick, glistening tentacles of ice. "Do not ask. I will remove grate."

They crouched in the darkness beneath the storm drain, huddled close.

"It's go time. Spectra, go up and take a look around. Stay out of sight."

"OK." She floated up through the metal grate as Abbey, grunting, lifted it out of place and set it off to the side.

"Abbey? What sort of threat are we dealing with?"

She smiled grimly, cocking an eyebrow at Deuce. "Is small-town police. They have guns, cars, but not much brains. Already they are scared. Have been burned tonight. Will be happy on the trigger, yes?" She made two-fingered guns of her hands, performing a brief pantomime of shooting her companions.

"Trigger-happy," Deuce said, and she nodded.

"Yes. So, if you see police, hide quick, or hit first." She pounded one fist into the other. "Hit hard."

Several of the group members exchanged nervous glances. Draculaura raised one hand. Abbey sighed at her. "Is not school, Draculaura."

"Are we going to have to.. to kill people?"

Clawd sighed. Turning, he muttered from the corner of his mouth at her. "See, this is why I said you should stay behind!"

Abbey shrugged. "Hope is not needing to kill anyone. But, normies are scared. Normies are prepared to kill. So we should be prepared also."

Draculaura nodded, sitting back, chewing her lips in thought.

Deuce looked around at them. "Billy, Twyla, you find us a way into the police station. Turn off the sound on your phones. You can text me when you've reached a safe point. All the rest, you're with me. We go when they agree the coast is clear, not before then. Everybody good?"

"Yeah." Billy ascended the ladder, followed close behind by Twyla. "Stick close, all right?"

"Sure."

"Good luck," said Operetta, and Twyla disappeared through the hole in the ceiling.

Deuce pulled out his phone, fiddling with the controls, when it began to trill loudly. He swore, dialing down the volume.

"Who is it?" Operetta craned her neck to see, even as Deuce pulled the phone closer to his face, squinting.

"It's Spectra." He put the phone to his ear. "You're not supposed to call, Spectra, it's too loud." He paused. "Wait, wait. Slow down. They what?"

Draculaura and Operetta both perked up at the tone of urgent worry in his voice, leaning in.

"OK," Deuce said, and sighed. "Listen, try to text, OK? I don't want you overheard. Have you seen the station?"

Overhead they heard a massive rumbling, followed by the wailing of a siren. Draculaura clapped her hands over her ears, as did Clawd, until the siren had faded.

"It is? What do you mean?"

Abbey climbed up the ladder, peering out the grate opening. She slid back down in a hurry, shaking her head.

"OK. OK. Spectra, just hang on. Get there, we'll meet up with you, Billy, and Twyla." Deuce closed his phone, getting to his feet, and the others followed his example.

"What's going on?" asked Draculaura.

Abbey and Deuce exchanged a look.

"Did you see it?"

She nodded. To the others, she said, "Station is on fire."

"Oh, no," said Operetta.

"As is most of New Salem." Deuce ran a hand over his snakes. "We've got to move fast. Abbey, run ahead, try to get the flames under control. Operetta, you're our emergency attack. Stay close to me and be ready to start singing."

"Can do."

"What.. what do you want me to do?"

Deuce looked at Draculaura, adjusting his glasses. "Uh.. I.. I don't know. Just stick with Clawd and support him. OK? Help him out if he gets in trouble." He hesitated, watching Draculaura as Abbey and Operetta climbed up the rusty ladder. "You can do that, right?"

"Totes. I mean, uh, yeah." She straightened, giving him a stiff salute. "Ten-four, mon capitan!"

Deuce raised an eyebrow at her, then at Clawd. "All right. Well, let's go. We're on borrowed time already."


	58. Chapter 58

Twyla spotted the remains of the payphone, then the stained concrete on the sidewalk beneath the streetlamp, from the shadows surrounding their neighbor's porch. She looked up at the house, silent and unlit, breathing heavy. A minivan sat in the driveway, and parked nose-to-nose with it, an older but well-loved sleek black sportster, a tarpaulin pulled halfway across its body.

She flinched at the sound of an explosion. Flames and smoke rolled into the night sky from the gas station three streets down, roaring, and underneath the sound of the flames she could hear excited shouting and the distant wail of a fire engine. She pulled back into the shadows as firelight flickered down the narrow residential street.

It took a few tries to find the right spot. She stepped first into the corner of the living room, paralyzed at the sight of a slumped and snoring form on the couch. Drawing back, she found another exit, but this lead into the kitchen. A clock ticked on the wall. Various electronic appliances blinked and glared in the darkness. She stepped back, taking a deep breath, and found her way to the stairs, creeping up sideways, pressed close against the wall.

Reaching the hall at the top, she faded back into a corner, stepping out inside the bedroom facing the street.

Twyla paused, trying to catch her breath and calm her pounding heart. She stared at the straw-haired girl in the bed, small hands hanging clasped off the side of her mattress, buried under blankets with flowers and butterflies stitched into the surface.

In here, the sickly-sweet aroma of nightmares set her mouth to watering.

She got down to her knees, then onto her stomach, and crept into the darkness underneath the bed.

Still her heart sounded too loud in her own ears, and her breathing..

She pressed her palms against the wooden slats of the bedframe, took three deep breaths, and closed her eyes.

_Focus. Focus. She's asleep. She's not going to hear you. Nobody else is going to hear or see you. Just.. calm down.. and focus._

Twyla felt her body begin to relax as she let her mind drift.

Calm settled over her, and her breathing slowed. It was like falling asleep, but instead of curling into herself she opened outward, following the scent of the nightmare, hunting it down.

In the bed above, Nicole stirred with a whimper.

Now, like a spider on a vibrating web, Twyla was in, an unnoticed observer inside the dream, her body forgotten in the physical realm.

In a duplicate, colorless version of her bedroom, Nicole stood at the window, staring down into the darkened street.

Below, Gary, her brother, jogged towards the house. Twyla tasted the thoughts and emotions radiating from the girl as she watched. Love, concern, relief.

He moved between pools of light from the streetlamps. Three to go. Now two. He passed the payphone.

Nicole's entire being tensed, knotted, as the rhythm changed. He hadn't reached the lamp in front of the house.

In the darkness between the houses, they spotted movement, watched it intensify and roll sideways.

Fear, thick and cold, filled the space they shared. Twyla salivated, licking her lips. Dread, slick and metallic; dull pain, like chewing aluminum. These were not the emotions inherent in the memory-dream, but added layers, the contribution of knowing what would happen next.

In the yard, two bodies twisted. Hands grasped at the edge of the light below the streetlamp, leaving jagged smears on the sidewalk.

Nicole's focus left the room behind, narrowing into a cone of darkness, her brother and his attacker at its center. They crawled into the light together, struggling. Gary, yellow-haired, eyes wild, hands bloodied. He wrestled sideways, gaining the upper hand for a moment, then crumpled under a blow to the back.

Watching, Twyla-as-Nicole knew about his back injury, thought back to it, sped back to the moment.

It looked like another boy attacking him, but the boy was not attacking in typical normie fashion. He was smaller and faster, and he made use of his teeth and nails.

Nicole radiated, trembling with sadness, incomprehension, and delicious terror.

Whatever remained in the circle of light below was not Gary any longer. Stark against the concrete, it had become a collection of human pieces in a growing smear of ink-black blood. They stared from the window as it resolved itself in the space between them and the sidewalk, able to pick out the shiny nubs and jagged edges of bone among blood-mottled flesh and hair below. One shoe lay collapsed at the edge of the circle of light, lost during the fight.

Nicole stood rooted by overwhelming fear, but Twyla's senses had sharpened, whetted by her appetite. She put a hand against the glass, squinting down at the street, silently demanding that the killer face them.

He turned, snarling and feral, eyes glinting. Flesh hung from his jaws, and as they watched he gnawed on it, drawing it into his mouth as he stood. He stared up at the window. He smiled, and Twyla knew him, going cold.

_If you tell,_ said his voice inside Twyla-as-Nicole's mind, _I will destroy you, too._

A new odor flooded Twyla's hyper-alert senses. She glanced at Nicole, the girl's eyes huge and moist. She didn't move aside as the carpet under their feet became warm and wet, instead sliding one hand into Nicole's.

She turned the girl away from the window. The memory-dream continued around them, Nicole's ghostly image collapsing at the windowsill, heart palpitating, while more-tangible Nicole allowed Twyla to return her to bed and tuck her in.

Twyla considered giving the girl a kiss on the forehead, then decided against it. She squeezed Nicole's hand. "Don't worry," she said, and the girl nodded, starting to cry.

She pulled back into herself, inhaling the nightmare, drawing it in as she extracted herself. Her body jerked upwards, slamming her forehead into the wooden slats, and she held very still, trying to be silent.

Above her, she listened to Nicole sniffling, crying in her sleep.

She stifled a burp with the back of one shadowy hand. Devouring the nightmare made her feel sluggish and satisfied. She sank into the shadows beneath the bed, resolving to meet up with her friends as soon as her energy had returned.


	59. Chapter 59

Abbey staggered back at the sound of gunfire. Her aim went awry, coating one of the parked cruisers in a thick and glittering layer of ice. She scanned the lot.

"Hey! Am trying to put out fire here! Jeez Louise."

She caught sight of two officers crouched behind an overturned, burned-out patrol car as they adjusted their stance, eyeing her.

"You," she said, sending an icy blast at the car's underbelly, spinning it in a half-circle. "Knock it off. Why not help instead of shooting?"

She turned back to the building, staring it down. She'd iced the roof first, only to watch it run off the drain pipes and hit the ground like so much rainwater. Now half the building was encased in ice, rapidly melting, and she felt the heat on her own brow.

Arching one arm, she swept a sheet of snow across the space between herself and the police station. A blast of steam struck her in the face as the heat vaporized her snowflakes and sent them back in her direction. She examined the fresh-fallen snow that remained, swiftly melting back towards her feet. There were no footprints.

"Billy," she called. "Is no time for jokes! Twyla! Come out now!"

She waited for a response, then glanced back over her shoulder. No sign of the others, either. She listened to the sound of sirens wailing on the smoky wind.

Inside the station, there was a muffled boom and the sound of breaking glass. Beyond the propped-open emergency door she could see thick dark clouds of smoke, snaking out to sweep across the glistening wet roof.

Swearing in Yetish, Abbey marched into the building, coating her path in ice as she went.

Smoke made it difficult to see beyond the emergency door, but she could hear coughing and cries for help. Squinting, she blasted the few hotspots she could see, then swept the beam up onto the ceiling, covering the room. She turned towards their voices, coughing into her sleeve.

"Frankie? Is Abbey. Please to be standing back now."

"Abbey?! How did you - "

She grasped the bars, eyeing the nearby cells with bars melted like candles, and froze them one by one. She shattered each with a solid punch, shaking off the impact, and stepped back.

Frankie stepped into the hall, sheltering Gorey under one arm as the vampire girl coughed and wheezed. "Abbey, get Clawdeen. I think she might have fainted. All this smoke.."

Abbey nodded, waving them away. "Get outside. Wait for others. Stay close to building!" Frankie nodded and they headed for the exit.

She ducked into the cell, feeling along the floor until she found one furry leg. Kneeling, Abbey slid her arms under Clawdeen's unconscious form, hefting the girl up and over her shoulder.

Droplets spattered her face and neck as she hurried towards the open door. She fell forward onto the slick pavement as the ceiling collapsed behind them, roaring, a gust of hot air searing across them. Melting shards of Abbey's ice flew like hail.

Clawdeen stirred, blinking, and sat up with a groan, one hand on her head. Frankie knelt at her side.

"How many more?"

Gorey looked up at Abbey, then at the station, roof crumbling into a shower of sparks and blackened debris. "You can't be serious."

"Howleen." Clawdeen fought to her feet, toppling backwards into Frankie's arms.

Frankie shook her head, holding on to the werewolf girl as she struggled. "Clawdeen, you can't. It's.. the whole place is falling apart."

Abbey took Clawdeen's arm, pulling her close. "Clawdeen, look at me. Hello. Yes. Is Abbey. Are you smelling Howleen in there? Can you find her?"

Clawdeen spread her feet, stabilizing, and took a long sniff. She wrinkled her nose. "Yeah. Yeah, I can get her."

"You can't!" Frankie turned to Abbey, desperate. "She can barely walk!" She stood, reddening. "Tell me where she is. I'll go in."

Clawdeen shook her head, but Abbey, looking back and forth between them, gave a small nod, helping Clawdeen to sit down beside Gorey on the edge of the parking lot. "Is best. Clawdeen?"

The werewolf sighed, pulling up her knees. "She's around front. Locked up."

Shots fired. Abbey threw herself across Frankie, knocking both of them to the ground, and rolled sideways to check the officers who had been hiding in the lot, ready to blast them. She caught sight of them, but they stood frozen, turned to stone. Abbey looked towards the street, rising, as Deuce and Operetta jogged across the empty road to meet them.

"Nice work," said Frankie, accepting Deuce's hand as he helped her to her feet.

He shook his head, crowding them closer against the wall. "That's not all of them. We were followed. Spectra?"

"On it." She soared over the roof, swooping down into the street and into the windshield of cruisers as they swerved around the corner, lights flashing. The first swung sideways, brakes screaming; the second went off the road to avoid collision, crashing into the side of a residential porch.

Clawd appeared, loping over the roofs of the cars, and at the sight of him Frankie gave Abbey a shove. "Let's go. We don't have much time to get her out."

"We'll cover this side," Deuce said, nodding as Abbey and Frankie ducked into the warped doorway.

Abbey went first, covering the walls and ceiling with ice as they went to reduce the chances of a collapse or a flare-up. The heat proved too much; her ice cracked, oozing, and began to melt almost immediately.

"Gotta move fast," Frankie said, giving her a gentle push, and they hurried through the holding cells, down a narrow corridor into the main lobby. Here, a broad table held a handful of ancient, soot-smeared computers. Chairs lay tossed around the room, some in splinters, some smoldering and burned. Abbey traced the blast pattern with her eyes, glaring. The fire had started here, shot through the front door like a bomb. She shook her head, peering into the rooms branching off the lobby.

"Howleen?" Frankie called, as Abbey iced a flaming bookshelf. "Are you in here?"

"Clawdeen did say door was locked, yes?"

"I think so, yeah."

Abbey hefted one leg, kicking in an office door with the heel of her boot. She leaned in, briefly coating the room in ice. "Not this one. Next."

Frankie eyed the door across the table from where she stood, while Abbey kicked in another and investigated.

She hurried around the table, slamming one fist into the door. It splintered apart around her hand. Frankie leaned into the dimly lit room. "Nope. Keep going."

By the time she got to door number six, her knuckles and her ankles hurt. But this time, when the door crumpled around her fist, she heard whimpering beyond.

Frankie reached for a light switch, unable to find one. "Howleen? Is that you?"

Abbey brushed past her, hurrying into the darkness, and smeared ice across the ceiling, creating a reflective surface to magnify what little light made it into the room. Howleen sat in a far corner, hands shackled at her back, ankles cuffed to the legs of a metal chair. She didn't lift her head to look at them, whimpering down at her knees.

Frankie followed Abbey into the room, the back of her neck prickling as a nervous charge ran across her skin. "I don't know," she said, as Abbey knelt behind Howleen, freezing her shackles. "This seems a little.. too.."

"Get her feet."

She nodded, kneeling, and grasped the cuff around Howleen's ankle. Moving it away from the chair so the charge didn't travel, she examined the metal, frowning. "These are conductive. I'm not going to be able to.. Hang on." Frankie held it in both hands, pulling it apart until it snapped, then did the same with the other.

They each took a side, helping Howleen to stand, and hurried back the way they had come. Abbey's ice had all melted, pooling on the floor. They stomped across the remains of the roof, carrying Howleen between them.

"Wait."

Frankie paused, leaning down. "What? Did you say something?"

Howleen grabbed the front of Frankie's shirt, her swollen eyes open a tiny slit. "Wait. Can't leave Scarah."

"Scarah?" Abbey glanced around, then at the little Wolf. "Where?"

Howleen raised a hand, pointing down the blackened and smoldering hallway, and Abbey nodded with a rueful smile.

"Of course. Frankie, take her. Will be just a moment."

At the door, Clawd reached for her, taking his little sister into his arms, and wrapped her in his letterman jacket, laying her at the grassy edge of the lot. Draculaura rose from where she sat to give Frankie a brief hug of thanks.

Frankie put a hand on Clawd's shoulder, Clawdeen watching her with sharp eyes. "She's all right. A little weak, sure, but she'll be fine in a few days."

"Yeah, if we can get outta here in one piece, that is." Operetta sighed, looking out at the ring of cruisers gathered outside the station. Beyond it, citizens on foot had collected around the outer rim, shouting, fists in the air. "Least they haven't brought out the torches 'n pitchforks yet."

Deuce took out his phone, sliding it open. "Don't worry. I think we can manage."

Gorey, watching him, raised an eyebrow. "Are you texting someone? Seriously? Right now?"

"I would stop, but it's important." He glanced up at the cruisers. "Operetta, anybody in those, or are they just a barrier?"

"I see 'em. They're bein' sneaky but they're out there, sure as sugar."

"Guns?"

Operetta gave a small chuckle. "Oh yeah. Looks like the sheriff's givin' 'em a pep talk right now."

Deuce nodded, sliding his phone shut, looking at the screen for a second. "How many?"

"Can't tell -"

The crowd's angry shouting turned to terrified screams. Frankie flinched at the sound of gunfire, sinking down beside Clawdeen against the building's side. Spectra floated through the line of cruisers, looking back at them with a perplexed expression.

"They brought megaphones," she said, smirking at Operetta. "Thought that might be useful."

"How many of them are there?"

Spectra shrugged, vaguely running one translucent hand over her shoulder. She examined her hand, frowning, as if she'd expected to find herself wounded. "Less than twenty officers. But the locals, oh wow." She turned, rising up, and snapped a photo of the crowd. Returning, she passed her iCoffin to Deuce, who grunted.

"I count fifty-three all together, and those are just the ones in frame. OK, guys, we need a plan."

"I lost Twyla," Billy said, materializing at Operetta's side, gasping for breath.

"You should have been here," Deuce said, his voice tight with anger.

"I was looking for her."

Abbey stepped through the emergency exit, Scarah slung over her shoulder, and gently propped the girl against the building before slumping down at her side, smudging soot across her face and hands in her attempts to wipe it away.

Deuce scowled. "What do you mean, you 'lost' her?"

Billy shrugged, eyes desperate. "I can't find her. She was with me when we left, right, and I'm pretty sure she was with me at the station at first, but then.."

Spectra's eyes widened. She began to float upward again, looking down the street. "I think I know where she went."

Deuce shook his head. "Spectra, you get her back. Billy, stay visible until I tell you, OK? We need to know where you are."

Billy nodded, giving a half-hearted salute.

They turned at the crackle of a megaphone, watching as the driver side door of the center cruiser popped open and a broad-shouldered man stepped out. His voice boomed through the megaphone. "Good evening, children. Isn't it past your bedtime?"

Frankie's hands tightened into fists at her side. "Van Hellscream."

Clawd stood, snarling, and Draculaura moved to his side. Deuce put a hand on Clawd's chest, a gentle restraint, and shook his head.

"What do you want?" Gorey shouted, sneering at him, not bothering to rise.

"Only for this bitter fight to end. Let me take you to your friends. You tell them to stop burning this fine town" - in the crowds beyond the patrol cars, a ragged cheer went up - "and I'll let you go home."

"Right," said Gorey, as the others exchanged doubtful looks.

Abbey walked to Billy, pointing out Scarah where she sat, unresponsive. He hurried to sit beside her while Abbey approached Deuce's side. She faced Van Hellscream across the empty street, hands on her hips. "No. We go home. You deal with 'friends'."

Hellscream frowned. He lifted the megaphone to his mouth. "You mean to tell me these fires weren't a distraction tactic?"

Deuce shook his head, gesturing back at their group. "We only came here to rescue them. We didn't cause any of this damage."

"Your people caused this damage. And, as such, your people should take responsibility for undoing it." Again the cheer went up, and this time Hellscream turned, nodding, smiling at them.

"Ridiculous." Abbey shook her head.

Across the street, the gas station burst into flames, roaring into the night sky. The crowd behind Van Hellscream fell back, cowering. Beneath its noise and the sudden shrieking of the gathered civilians she heard raucous laughter and whooping.

She could make out two dark forms moving through and against the fire, arms slung around one another's shoulders, shoving and jostling. Their laughter carried with the ashes.

Heath and Holt crossed the street, aflame and giddy. Heath wore Holt's distinctive red jacket, collar popped, and Holt had Heath's letterman jacket, sleeves shoved up to his elbows. They passed a cigarette between them, their blue cloudy exhalations in stark contrast against the billowing black smoke behind them.

"Catty Noir," Heath said, giggling, and Holt shoved him again, hooting.

"Heck yeah. She's a hottie. Can't keep her paws off me. You?"

"Nah, I don't like werecats. I've had a few bad experiences."

Holt nudged his chest. "Dude, you know who you should talk to? You know? Catrine. She's artsy. And she's from Scaris. You know what they say about Euro monsters, man. No holds barred. Man, I bet she's intense."

Heath caught sight of the police cruisers and turned, looking at the station's ruins. He spotted his classmates and paused, pulled forward by Holt's momentum before Holt released him, spinning off into the street, singing. Heath's flames banked, guttering out. He met Abbey's gaze, shocked, wounded, found out, and his own expression hardened. He looked at the cruisers again, watching officers move into firing position.

Abbey leaned towards Deuce. "Am going to ice the street. Ready?"

He nodded, his jaw set, one hand on his glasses.

Heath ran for Holt as Van Hellscream retreated back into his patrol car. The slam of his door shutting coincided with the officers opening fire, and Abbey threw out a sheet of glistening ice across the street. Deuce dropped his glasses as Heath slipped, falling onto his side, slamming into Holt, knocking the two of them into Hellscream's car. Deuce's gaze swept across the row of cars, stoning six officers on the left flank, before a bullet clipped too close to his arm and he dropped into a crouch.

Abbey skated across the ice, jumping onto the hood of Hellscream's car as the engine roared to life. Gunfire and the shouting of angry New Salemites echoed around her. She kicked the nearest officer in the arm and he shrieked, dropping his gun, his arm bent into an unnatural angle as he fell back from the firing line.

Heath grabbed Holt by the jacket, dragging him away from the vehicle as its wheels spun on the ice. They wrestled, Holt pushing to reach behind Heath, shouting at one another. Holt's laughter rang out.

Abbey raised a fist, ready to punch through the windshield, but the car's wheels found traction and it jolted forward, curving sideways. Abbey fell, her face smashing into the glass. The back end swung into the row of officers stoned by Deuce, striking one, knocking two down, clouds of rock dust rising from their toppled and broken bodies. She got to her knees as the car slowed, Hellscream wrestling with the gear shift within, her fist raised for a second attack.

Officers grabbed Heath by the shoulders of his jacket, dragging him back. Holt slipped out of his grasp, lunging across the icy pavement. He tried to wriggle free of the jacket but it held him. Pulled up by his arms, he looked into their faces, trying to muster a smile.

Deuce stood, shouting to get Heath's attention. Abbey punched through the windshield, glass shattering across the pavement and into her hair. She reached first for Hellscream's hand on the shifter knob, but he evaded her, slamming on the brakes as he leaned for the glovebox. She pulled the keys out of the ignition, sliding back off the hood, and threw them into the crowd of officers across the street. She came around the front as he sat up, gun in hand.

Gunshots fired. Civilians screamed and scattered. Deuce dropped his glasses, scanning the line of officers around Heath, blinking around his struggling form. Trapped in the hands of a statue, Heath panicked, pulling backwards until it fell on top of him in the grass.

Clawd pulled open the passenger side door, surprising Hellscream. Abbey reached through his window and grabbed his hands on the gun grip, turning it towards the side mirror, her own hands bloodied and studded with glass. Clawd grabbed the man and began dragging him backwards out the passenger door. He held the gun, hands slipping.

"No! No, wait! Let go, damn you!"

Abbey gave him a thin smile, cocking an eyebrow as his hands finally slid off the grip and Clawd tossed him onto the grass beside Howleen.

Holt took Heath's arm, dragging him out from under the statue. They stood together, staring at the row of officers, Holt's breath heavy.

Heath walked up, squinting at the officers. "This guy was hit. Look, he's falling backwards." He glanced back at his friends, scowling, then at Holt. He saw the gun in Holt's hand, the firm set of his face. "Holt?"

Holt shook his head, slipping the gun into the pocket of the jacket he'd borrowed. "These fuckers tried to kill me last year. I'm not letting them forget it. Come on."

"I count thirteen," Deuce said, and Abbey nodded, arms crossed over her chest. "Billy - get a number on civilians and officers over there. Come back and let us know if it's safe yet."

Billy nodded, releasing Scarah's hand as he got to his feet. He faded before he hit the street.

Abbey watched after him, her eyes drifting to Holt and Heath as they hurried across the street. She nudged Deuce, gesturing towards them.

"I don't know," he said with a shrug. "Heath's my bro, you know? I can't.."

"Get off me!" Hellscream shoved Clawd, sitting up, ignoring the fact that Clawd hadn't moved. He loosened his tie, struggling for air, red-faced. "I have no quarrel with you. I'm simply acting as the voice of the local populace."

"Bull," Clawd said, growling. "Why don't you look at my sister and tell me you had nothing to do with that?"

Hellscream shrugged, removing a silver flask from an inside pocket of his coat. He took a long drink, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his coat. "I was only following orders, wolf. Surely you understand? You all follow that Headmistress of yours blindly, don't you?"

Deuce scoffed, adjusting his glasses, kicking at the gravel. "Look, Hellscream.. we just want to get our wounded back to safety."

"Some of us want a little more than that," Clawd said, and Hellscream raised an eyebrow at him, smirking.

"Are you going to let us go, or does this have to get ugly?" Deuce put a hand to his glasses; at his side, Abbey layered ice over her fists, watching him.

He shrugged, screwing the top back on his flask. He leaned back, struggling to his feet. Then, quicker than they would have guessed he could move, Hellscream reached across and pulled Howleen into his arms, pressing the silver flask close to her face. She yowled, twisting away.

Clawd pounced into his shoulder and Hellscream pressed the flask against her skin. She shrieked, and Clawd recoiled, snarling, prowling around him in a circle.

"Hit him," Clawd said, and Deuce dropped his glasses.

Hellscream ducked behind Howleen's struggling form, holding up the flask, and Deuce shook his head, replacing his glasses, stepping back.

Clawd pounced onto the man's back, shoving Howleen forward, just as Gorey and Clawdeen lunged at him from the side. Hellscream shrieked, flailing, but they covered him, knocking him sideways in the grass, teeth and claws bared.

Deuce and Abbey knelt, each taking one of Howleen's arms, helping her walk away from the fight behind her.

"Frankie!" Abbey called, and the girl looked up, hurrying towards them. "Can you start the car?"

"Oh! Um.. probably, yeah."

"Go!" Pushing Howleen at Deuce, she said, "I will get Scarah. Call Spectra and the invisible boy."

He nodded, trying to manage his iCoffin with one hand and Howleen with the other. Glancing up, he noticed Draculaura sprawled on her back, unconscious. "Operetta," he called, pointing, and the girl nodded, hurrying over.

Hellscream's car sputtered to life, and the Wolf siblings stood, startled, wiping their mouths. Frankie scooted into the passenger side seat. "Come on! Clawd, you can drive, can't you?"

Clawd wiped his mouth, nodding, dazed. "Yeah. Is it an automatic?"

Frankie shrugged, giving him a lopsided grin.

Deuce handed Howleen off to Clawdeen and Clawd, squinting down at the tiny screen of his iCoffin.  
They left Hellscream, shredded and unresponsive, in the grass at the edge of the police station parking lot, bleeding out into the night.

They piled into the car, squeezing in among one another, half of them unconscious.

Abbey stared out the window at the flames, hands throbbing, as they drove through town. She looked at the blood on her own hands, on the hands of Gorey and Clawd and Clawdeen, at Draculaura's unconscious form slumped against Clawd's shoulder in the front seat.

Gorey gave her a sidelong smile, her fangs bloodied, mouth smeared with red. "Wanna hear something crazy? I actually wish I'd had to take the clawculus test I had scheduled for today."

"I miss going to the maul," said Frankie from the passenger seat, looking back at them.

"Falling asleep in Hack's class," said Deuce, and several of them grunted in agreement.

Silence fell over them as Clawd drove through the flaming streets. Somewhere a siren wailed, and they tensed, looking out windows.

Howleen sniffled, straightening beside her sister. "It's never going to be the same again, is it?"


	60. Chapter 60

The door swung open on her third knock. Backlit by a dim lamp in the front hall, Dr Jekyll rubbed his eyes, scowling, one hand holding the front of his bathrobe shut. "Clair?"

"I'm sorry." She pushed past him, hurrying into the living room. "I know it's late," she said, and he set down the table clock in the hall, yawning. "Holt's in trouble. Well, I mean, Jackson's in trouble, really."

Dr Jekyll's face snapped into focus. He fumbled in the drawer of the low end table at the couch's side, drawing out a pair of glasses, which he shoved up onto the bridge of his nose. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head, feeling her face go hot. "He took off into New Salem. Said he wants to burn the town down. He's got Heath with him. I'm really worried."

"OK." His nodding became faster and more urgent as she spoke. "Let me go make a few phone calls, get some help."

"Listen.. I know this probably sounds strange, but.. I came up with a formula that just might reverse the transformation. Maybe get rid of Holt altogether. And I was wondering if I could use your lab for an hour, maybe two."

His eyes narrowed. The corner of his mouth quirked up.

"I've already made a test batch at school," she said. "But I haven't had the chance to properly test it yet."

He opened his mouth, hesitated, and folded his arms across his chest, thoughtful. "Did you bring your notes?"

* * * * *

She stepped out of the shadows into the darkened bedroom, scanning for movement. Silence reigned.

It looked as if he'd gotten out of bed, gone to school, and simply never came home. She checked the doorknob. It was locked.

Twyla moved towards the circular mirror above his dresser, blocking the moonlight. Behind the piles of receipts and spare change, the aftershave and deodorant, Gary had arranged a meticulous frame of photographs around the mirror. Some were from his childhood - a beloved pet, a family vacation. Towards the top of the curve, they became more recent. She looked over photos from local landmarks, carefully framed and staged sports team photos, Gary with his normie friends. Along the top right-hand segment, a collection of handsome "selfies" taken at sunset. She took one down, squinting, a half-smile on her face. She could just make out the ethereal outline of Spectra's form under his arm, her smile a brilliant point of light, easily excused as the glare of reflected sunlight in the lens.

Twyla glanced into the mirror, startled. She turned, tucking the photo into her pocket as Meowlody and Purrsephone flanked the doorway. Light from the hall spilled across the floor.

She darted for the shadowy corner by the closet. The room flooded with light, the door closing with a soft click. Her hands found the wall, but the shadow was gone, banished. She turned to face them.

Toralei held up the key in one hand, the other still on the light switch, before releasing the key on its chain back down the neckline of her shirt. "What's this? An intruder?" She tsk'ed, smirking. "I'm afraid we've been hired to protect this house and its inhabitants. You're a security threat." Holding up her hand once more, she extended her claws with a wicked grin. "Sorry. Oh, wait. No, I'm not."

Meowlody and Purrsephone rushed at her, hands out. Twyla ducked under them, but they caught her by the upper arms, slamming her back against the wall. Photos fluttered off the mirror to the floor. The twin catgirls hissed as Toralei watched her squirm, attempting to kick them, but they had a solid few inches and at least ten pounds on her.

"Go for the belly," Toralei said. "Then we'll get her face. Give her a reason to hide in the shadows."

Claws raked across the skin of Twyla's belly, teasing at first, the catgirls laughing. Then she felt them dig in, tearing at her, and she cried out, trying to pull free of their hands.

They released her and she fell to the floor with a whuff, winding herself. She got to her knees, watching them. They didn't move. Purrsephone licked and bit at her fingernails, purring. Twyla felt her stomach, hesitant. Her hand came away slick and red. She rose, and Toralei pounced, knocking her to the floor, claws digging into her hair and scalp.

She could see, under Gary's desk, a shadowed portion. If she could get there fast enough, and curl up small enough, maybe..

Toralei's claws dragged across her skull and down along her cheeks, catching against her skin. She pulled away, writhing towards that one dark spot, but Toralei grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her back, shrieking. She felt the twins sink their claws into her calves.

"I hope you weren't planning on leaving." Toralei straddled her stomach, picking shreds of Twyla's skin out from under her nails. "The fun has just begun."

She struck Twyla's cheek with an open hand, knocking the girl's head sideways. A ringing noise filled her head; she couldn't focus. Toralei's condescending laughter sounded from a distance. She pushed at Toralei, trying to shove her away or knock her off-balance, but the girl wouldn't move.

The ringing intensified. She picked out a melody in it. It sounded familiar, somehow.

Toralei cocked an eyebrow at her. "Somebody wants to talk to you. Shall we see who it is?"

Twyla bellowed in rage as Toralei reached into her pocket, pulling out her cell phone.

Toralei grunted, showing her captive the screen. A pale purple box: her profile image for Spectra. "It's the Ghostly Gossip! I wonder what juicy bits of info she has for you?"

Twyla took a deep breath, pulling her arms out from under Toralei's legs, and swiped for the phone, grabbing it out of the girl's hands. She slid it open. "Hello! Hello? Spectra, are you there?"

Toralei's eyes narrowed, her mouth pulling into a confused sneer. "Are you answering the phone mid-beating? You really are weird."

"I know it wasn't you or Clawd," Twyla said, interrupting Spectra at the other end of the line. "It was Puck. I saw it. Nicole saw it."

A moment of silence at the other end, then a sigh of profound relief. "Don't come to the school," Spectra said. "It's not safe."

"What? What do you mean?"

"I can't explain. I'm not sure, really. I got here before the rest, and.. there's.. death. Lots of death. Twyla, just stay where you are. Don't come back tonight."

Spectra hung up, and Twyla held the phone for a few seconds, confused. She slid it shut and lay it atop her chest. "Look," she said, staring up at Toralei. "Bloodgood has been good to you, right? The school has been good to you. They need help."

Toralei's eyes narrowed further for a moment. She lowered her hands, head tilted. "What's this about?"  
"There's some kind of an attack at the school. Spectra says people are dying."

Toralei scoffed, grinning. "No way. Seriously?"

Twyla twisted, trying to dislodge the werecat on her stomach, but Toralei didn't move. "I'm going back there. You should come with me, if you value anything that school has ever done for you."

The werecats exchanged a glance, uncertain. Toralei sneered, pouting. "You're lucky. Let's go."


	61. Chapter 61

"Howleen? How you doing?"

Clawdeen shook her head at her older brother in the rear view mirror. "I think she's passed out again. She's drooling. Gross."

"Scarah's still out of it, too," said Billy.

Deuce sighed, adjusting his glasses as the car pulled into the back lot of the school. Clawd swerved in beside his own car, parking crooked across three spots, and cut the engine. He kicked his door open, leaning in to heft Draculaura over his shoulder.

"Let's get them into the pool room," Frankie said, circling around the front of the car. "We can make some crude cots and there's plenty of space to lay them out. Plus the moisture in the air and the heat might help."

"All right. Good call, Frankie." Deuce grinned, helping Billy maneuver Scarah from the back seat, her movements stiff and robotic.

Frankie grinned, shrugging. "Straight A's in Biteology, two years running. Plus my dad is like a rock star scientist? So yeah, I know a thing or two."

"If y'all don't mind," Operetta said, sliding out of the back seat with one arm under Gorey's, "I'd like to check in with our neighbors upstairs and let them in on what just happened in New Salem."

Deuce grinned, snorting. "If Spectra hasn't done that already."

"Right." Operetta slid her phone out of her pocket, thumbing her way to the Ghostly Gossip. "Well, butter my buns and call me a biscuit. I don't know how that ghoul does it." She held up the phone for Gorey. 'DOWN IN FLAMES' read the headline, all in caps, and beneath it, a photo of Holt and Heath walking away from the gas station, a photo of Van Hellscream with the megaphone, and a terrible, slightly blurry aerial photo of the gathered civilians and officers. "Well, suppose I better go up and tell them the truth, anyways."

"Wish I knew where Twyla was," Billy said, glancing back at the darkened street as they filed in through the emergency door. "I hope she's all right."

"Don't worry." Frankie patted his shoulder, giving him a reassuring smile. "She's a tough girl. She'll make her way back."

In the hall, Deuce paused, wiping his forehead. "All right. Operetta, go on upstairs. Keep us posted if anything weird is going on. You guys, help me move Howleen, Scarah, Lala, and Gorey into the pool room."

"I'm fine," said Gorey, leaning up against the wall as Operetta headed up the stairs. "I just need to rest for a few minutes."

He nodded. "Come with us, then. I'm going to try calling Spectra and see where she is, if she's still out there somewhere, and we'll try to reconnect with her to plan our next move." Deuce hesitated, looking at each of them in turn, his expression somber. "They're not going to wait until morning now. This was a declaration of war. We can expect to have cruisers here within the hour."

Abbey shook her head, frowning, and kicked at the floor of the hallway.

"All right? Let's go."

Clawd nudged the double doors to the indoor pool open with his elbow, backing through them, and held the door for Billy and Deuce as they walked Scarah in. Frankie hurried around them, rushing to the rack of towels, and began laying them out on the floor.

Lagoona popped up at the pool's edge. "Hey, Frankie love. What's going on?"

"Oh, hi! Just bringing in some wounded."

"What?" Lagoona pulled herself over the edge of the pool, followed by Gil. She walked over as Clawd lay Draculaura on one of the towel-cots, frowning. "What happened?"

Frankie glanced back at Deuce, who cleared his throat. "We went into New Salem to get Howleen and the others."

Lagoona watched them lay out the wounded, aghast. Gil put an arm around her. "Well.. are they all right?"

"We're not quite sure." Frankie knelt beside Scarah, pushing another towel under her head to keep it elevated. "Lala and Gorey will be fine soon, I think, but Howleen's pretty hurt, and Scarah.."

Billy shook his head, arms crossed over his belly, and went to sit on one of the built-in benches along the wall, far from their group. Frankie watched him go, stepping closer to Lagoona. She frowned, shrugging one shoulder. "We don't really know what happened to them, so we have no idea.."

"No idea?" Clawdeen barked laughter, scornful, hands on her hips. "I can tell you what happened. I heard most of it."

Abbey nudged Deuce, knocking him a few steps closer to the pool's edge. "What next? Must prepare for next attack, yes?"

"Uh.. yes." He looked up at her, eyebrows raised. In a quiet voice, he said, "To tell you the truth, Abbey, I have no idea. I've just been faking this whole thing. Now that we're here, I have no idea what we should do next."

She nodded, scanning their small group. "Should get more friends. I will go downstairs, gather more to fight." She looked down at him, frowning. "Perhaps Clawd can help with defense plan. Is good in casketball game, yes?"

"Hey, that's a good idea. I hadn't thought of that. OK, I'll talk to him." Deuce grinned. "Thanks."

"We should go into main hall to plan. Billy wishes to be alone, and Frankie and Clawdeen have much to discuss. Should not disturb them with talk of war."

Deuce turned. "Clawd! Come on, man. I need to talk with you for a minute."

"Yeah, OK." Clawd spoke quietly to Howleen's unresponsive form, getting to his feet, and followed Deuce and Abbey out into the main hallway.

"What's up?" he said, slowing his pace to walk alongside Deuce, who was busy scrolling through his contacts list.

"Need to come up with solid defense plan." Abbey paused outside the doors to the gym, glancing into its darkened interior. "You have ideas?"

"Well, uh.." Clawd glanced at Deuce, then back at Abbey, scratching the back of his neck. He turned in a slow semi-circle, looking at their surroundings. "They're probably going to come right in the front door. They don't know any other way in, right? That's a pretty defensible spot. We've got the upstairs balconies. We can block off the stairwell, lock some doors, put barricades in the hallways.. make it a dead end."

Abbey smirked. "I see you are funny also."

"What? Oh, no, I didn't - "

Deuce swore, snakes hissing, and hung up his phone, fidgeting with it. "Can't get through to her. I don't have Twyla's number so I can't find her. I'd call Holt but I'm pretty sure he won't answer. Ah!" He thumbed through his contacts, putting the phone up to his ear again, and stepped back from them.

Abbey looked at Clawd. "Do many students here have powers useful for a fight?"

Clawd shrugged, discomforted. "Not really. Those that do, usually can't control them very well. But hey!" He grinned at her. "We've got you, don't we?"

Abbey shook her head, smirking again. "I learned today I am not enough to stop a war. Is very sad day for my people, I am sure."

Clawd gave Deuce a shove. "Get off the phone, man. Important shit is happening."

"Hang on, hang on." Into the phone, he said, "No, YOU listen. Get him here pronto. He's going to get you killed, don't you get that? ... Well, some people are just self-destructive. You're not going to save him, you know. ... Going along with him is not the same as keeping him safe, Heath. ... Fine. Fine. You know what?" He paused, squinting down the hall. "What? No, I just.. I thought I saw.. Heath, I'm going to have to call you back."

Abbey turned, glancing down the hall. Clawd did the same.

"What is it?" said Abbey.

Clawd sighed, shoulders slumped. "It's Cleo."

"It's Cleo," Deuce said, straightening, one hand slicking back his snakes.

"Yeah, and she's not alone, either. Look." Clawd pointed.

At the far end of the hall, on the other side of the gym and the creepateria, Cleo paused at the intersection, radiating impatience. She carried a large bag over one shoulder. As they watched, dozens of zombies shuffled up the hall towards her, then around, moving towards them.

They heard an ear-splitting, screeching whinny from behind. A shadow passed over them. Mere feet ahead of them, a pitch black horse hit the hallway, hooves aflame, carrying a headless rider. The beast barrelled towards Cleo, who had just taken notice of it, looking skeptical.

"Guys?" Billy called, and Abbey turned to see Scarah moving with slow, hesitant steps in their direction, followed by a bewildered Invisi-Billy.

"Is it the Headmistress?" Clawd said.

"Dunno." Deuce put a hand to his glasses, his face scrunched with effort. "I don't think I can hit the horse. The beam might glance off and hit her. Abbey?"

Abbey shook her head. "Might make hallway too slick. Could cause even more damage."

The horse neighed, breathing a jet of flame across the lockers, melting a long blackened streak into them. Cleo cringed back, now surrounded by the moaning undead, as the horse plowed through them.  
Scarah nudged Deuce aside, moving through them like a ghost, and opened her mouth.

All sound stopped. Then, like colliding into a wall, a piercing shriek hit all of them. They crumpled to the ground, hands over their ears. Glass fell like rain as the lightbulbs above shattered one by one, covering them in darkness. The horse whinnied, tossing its mane, and they watched its flaming hooves as it wheeled sideways, turning. It galloped towards them, snorting fire and smoke, its headless rider bellowing laughter.

Abbey lifted her head, tears in her eyes, and reached out with one hand. She intended to ice the hall, abandoning all thought of risk, but when she uncovered one ear the sound became painfully intense. It felt as if the inside of her head would melt out her ears if she didn't muffle the noise somehow. She clapped her hands tighter over her ears, staring up at Scarah in awe.

The horse launched itself into the air towards her, flaming hooves pawing the air, leaving light trails in their wake.

Scarah slammed sideways into the lockers, and in the instant that the horseman struck him, Invisi-Billy became visible, knocked to the floor.

The horse landed atop his body. It reared, shrieking, and slammed down atop him a second time, its rider laughing.

Deuce stood, tearing off his glasses, and stared hard at the horse and rider. As the horse reared up another time, smoky marble spread from its belly outwards, transforming it within seconds into a harmless statue.

The rider's laughter, the horse's whinny, Scarah's scream, all echoed in their ears as they got to their feet.

She crumbled to her knees beside Billy's bloody and crushed body, sobbing, her hands trembling above him. Deuce put his glasses on, leaning into the wall, his breathing heavy.

"Billy," she said, stroking his hair.

A thin smile formed on his lips for a moment, then he cringed in pain. _Listen.._

She nodded, leaning close. "Yes. I'm here."

_.. that cop could see me._

"Goodfellow?"

She caught the fuzzy image of a frozen moment in time: the single glimpse Billy had gotten of the map, in the instant before Goodfellow slid it into his pocket. She turned to the others, eyes burning. "Paper! Now!"

Cleo pushed through the horde of zombies, digging through her bag. She pulled out her purse, handing Scarah a slender notepad and a sparkling bling-studded pen. Scarah sketched the map as best she could.

"Hang on, Billy. Hang on, please."

_Trying. Not much longer. Have you got it?_

She finished the sketch, gasping with relief. "Yes. I've got it. I've got it, Billy, thank you."

He closed his eyes with a grunt, and she caught another image: the delicate and elaborate signatures on the letter Goodfellow had received.

"The ones behind Van Hellscream," she murmured, copying them down. Her hand shook, the letters too ornate, clumsy in her own script. "Yes. Thank you, Billy. Oh, gods."

His hand twitched at her side, and she reached down, sliding her own hand into his, leaning close to him.

_I think I'll be going now,_ he thought, and she caught the suggestion of a smile on his lips. _Just remember, Scarah.. Even if you can't see me, I'll always be there._

"I know." She nodded, laying her forehead against his own, and stayed there until his breathing ceased. Then, sitting up, she wiped the tears from her eyes and passed the notepad back to Cleo, along with her pen. "Have your zombie ghoulfriend look that over. May be just the information we need."

"All right." Cleo took them, watching Scarah get to her feet, discomforted and uncertain.

"Scarah?" Deuce walked around Cleo, touching the girl's arm. "Are you OK?"

"Oh, no. No. And I may not be for some time." She gave him a weak smile, and for the first time he saw the wound on her head, fresh blood trickling down to the bridge of her nose. "I think I'll just go have a lay down, if you don't mind."

"Sure." He stood back, watching her walk back to the pool, then turned to Cleo. "How did you.. What are.."

"Ghoulia wanted the zombies back. Reinforcements, I suppose." She hefted the bag on her shoulder, grinning. "So I borrowed some of Daddy's precious artifacts, and brought them here. Took me hours. Ugh, don't even look at me, I am filthy. Zombies are so stubborn. Where is Ghoulia, anyways?"

"Upstairs." Abbey stepped forward, looking down at the body, then at the statue standing over it. "What do we do about these? Cannot be leaving them here."

"Right." Cleo set the bag down, taking a deep breath. "Deuce, call Ghoulia, get her to put the zombies around the school's perimeter through the intercom. Oh, and have her look at this, will you? Abbey, Clawd, move this statue into the catacombs where we can lock it up. What else?"

Clawd cleared his throat, half-raising one arm. "We need to arrange the ground floor to defend against New Salem PD."

"We don't have much time," Deuce said, nodding.

"Oh my Ra." Cleo looked at each of them, the hint of a smile on her face. "What have you gotten yourselves into? I swear, I'm gone for a few days and you all turn into barbarians. Well, let's get started."

Deuce snaked one arm around her waist, giving her a brief squeeze. "I've missed you so much."

"Oh?" She pushed him away with one hand, her expression cold. "We'll have to talk, once this is handled. Just do your job, Deuce."

He faltered, frowning. "Uh.. all right." Stepping back, he slid his phone open as she did the same.

"Yes, hello, Daddy. Or rather, Daddy's voicemail." Cleo grinned, examining her nails. "I'm sure you've noticed I'm not at home. I'm at the school, Daddy, and I won't be coming home tonight."


	62. Chapter 62

"You're bleeding." Lagoona hurried to Scarah's side, slinging an arm over her shoulders.

"I'll be fine. Just need a rest." Scarah lowered herself to one of the towel cots, rolling onto her back. Staring up at the ceiling, her mouth quirked into a frown and she started to cry.

Lagoona glanced back over her shoulder, and Gil nodded, excusing himself. "What is it, love? Are you hurt?"

"Oh, only me heart." Scarah closed her eyes tight, covering her face with her hands.

She took Scarah's headband off, brushing hair from her face, and sat staring at the glistening wound on Scarah's forehead. She turned as Frankie knelt at her side and gestured to Scarah's injury, eyes wide. "What happened?"

Frankie shook her head, hushing Lagoona. "Scarah? Are you in pain?"

Through her hands, Scarah said, "Billy's dead. I'd rather like not to talk about it, if you please. Just let me rest."

"OK. That's fine. Just let me check your head real quick, if you don't mind. Were you hit?"

"I'm not hurt."

"OK," said Frankie, and went quiet as she ran her hands over the girl's scalp, sensing the annoyance in Scarah's tone.

Lagoona stood, glancing around for Gil. Clawdeen joined up with her as she moved towards him.

"It was Van Hellscream," Clawdeen said, and Lagoona shook her head. "I don't know how she survived it, really. Same with my sister." She examined her claws for a moment. "You know, I really thought tearing into him would make me feel better about the whole thing, but it didn't."

"You.. attacked him?"

Clawdeen shrugged, but she wouldn't meet their eyes. "Listen, it's probably safest for you two to stay right here. I don't think they're prepared to do any deep-sea exploration looking for new monsters to kill."

"Oh, man." Gil put one hand to the side of his tank, eyes rolling. "My folks were right. I should've stayed home."

Lagoona shook her head. "You'll be fine. She just said they're not prepared..."

"I should call them. They're probably worried sick. Excuse me."

"Gil," Lagoona said, but he had already stepped aside, pulling out his phone. She crossed her arms, sighing at Clawdeen. "He's such a small fry sometimes, I swear."

"How many other water monsters are still here?"

"Well, uh.." She looked away, counting. "Maybe a dozen. Not too many, really, considering the swim team we used to have."

Clawdeen nodded. "And can you contact them?"

"Between the two of us, yeah. We're a pretty tight-knit group. Our own little school," she said, grinning.

"Call them. Get them here, where it'll be safe."

Gil returned, his expression excited but nervous. "My parents said they'll be here in a few hours."

"What?" Lagoona turned, incredulous. "Gil, why would you -"

"They're worried, all right?" He frowned. "I don't see what the problem is."

"Well, are they coming to pick you up, or what? They're not going to wanna stick around here, are they?"

"Maybe." Gil crossed his arms, his frown deepening.

"No, they won't," Lagoona said. "So you're just going to leave?"

"Maybe. Look, it's not like I want to go."

Lagoona made an exasperated noise. "You could choose not to, you know!"

"What, and know they're at home worrying about me?" He shifted his weight, discomforted, and glanced at Clawdeen.

Clawdeen reached out, putting a hand on Lagoona's shoulder, her eyes on Gil. "Oh man, you know, sometimes it's really hard trying to make your family happy and do what's right for yourself. It's a tough choice to make. I know, I have to do it all the time. It totally sucks." She turned to Lagoona, stepping between them. "Why don't we go call those teammates of yours, and try to get everyone here?"

Lagoona gave her a gentle push. "Look, I see what you're trying to do and I appreciate it, really." She looked beyond Clawdeen. "But Gil, this is a constant fight between us, and I'm getting really sick of it. You need to make a choice, mate. Quit stringin' me along. Whatever you choose, I'll support it, because you're my mate, but make a choice already." She stepped back, her face green-tinted as she blushed. "Now we need to get all our mates together. Make some phone calls."

"Wait. Lagoona.."

She held up a hand, already turning away. "We'll talk later, mate. There's too much to be done."

Clawdeen slung an arm around Lagoona's shoulders as they walked to the far end of the pool. "Wow, Lagoona, that was.."

"Harsh. I know."

"No, it wasn't harsh! Trust me, I know harsh!" Clawdeen laughed, giving her friend a squeeze. "I was gonna say strong."

Lagoona paused, sighing. "He's really testing the waters. I mean, calling his folks in the middle of this mess?" She shook her head. "I bet he's not even supposed to be here. I bet they just locked him up in his room and he was totally OK with it!" She pulled out her phone, wiping at her eyes, scowling down at the screen. "It's not that I don't like his folks. I just don't like how they treat him. And half the time I can't tell if I'm being a 'bad influence' or if he's really as bad off at home as I think he is. Ugh, does that even make any sense?"

"Uh.." Clawdeen scratched at one ear, offering a crooked smile. "I think so, yeah."

"Anyways.." Lagoona thumbed through her contacts, eyes narrowed. "It's his choice to make now. Plenty more fish in the sea, as they say, right?"


	63. Chapter 63

"This place is like a maze, but with more fire!" Manny said, coughing.

Clair nudged him, pointing to their left. "Over there. I think I saw someone over there."

They hurried across residential yards, avoiding smoking debris from broken porches and roofs. Clair spun in a circle, pulling out her phone, dialing Holt's number.

"Nope." Manny snorted, sneezing out black soot, wiping his bovine nose with the corner of his red shirt.  
Together they moved behind the house at the corner as a cruiser sped down the street, sirens wailing.

She listened to his phone ring, cursing under her breath.

"Hey," Holt said on the other end, panting, nonchalant.

"Where the hell are you?"

He paused. She could see him clearly in her mind's eye, looking around, squinting at signs, trying to determine where he was. "Uh.. I'm in the Crow's Nest, apparently."

"That sounds like a bar."

"Smart girl. Have I told you how sexy brains are?"

"Shut it. Is Heath there with you?"

"Nah. Well, maybe. He might be in the can. I don't really know." His voice faded, covered by laughter.

She listened to him calling out to others. "You know they don't card here? They totally do in Devil's Lake. You should come by, we'll have a drink."

Clair took a deep, slow breath. "Where is the Crow's Nest, Holt?"

"Pffft. I don't know." He hung up, laughing again.

She closed the phone, pounding one fist into the siding, and crouched staring at the grass for a long moment. Then she flipped the phone open and dialed again.

It took five rings, but he picked up. "Better be a fuckin' emergency."

"It is. Keith, where's the Crow's Nest?"

"Totally not an emergency. I sleep now."

"No! Keith, stay on the line! Listen to me. New Salem is on fire. How have you been sleeping through this?"

She listened as he yawned, struggled to sit up, turned on the bedside lamp. "Well, I heard sirens, but I thought it was part of my dream. What do you mean, on fire?"

"Like the whole town is on fire. And I'm trying to stop it, OK, I'm out here, but I need to know where the Crow's Nest is."

Keith scoffed. "It's down on Main, you know, by the old art supply shop."

"Used to be a record store?"

"No, the other side. Used to sell greeting cards and cheese. Touristy place."

"Oh yeah. OK. That's a bar now? Jeez."

"Clair, where are you?"

She peered at the street signs. "Corner of Birch and Elm. Another thing. Do you have any idea how many guys are planning to get into Monster High?"

He snorted laughter. "Dude, I have no idea. They don't tell me shit anymore. I can tell you this just on rumor, though. It's a big group. We're talking twenty to fifty people, most of them in the athletics program."

"I'm so surprised."

"Right? Yeah, me too. There's a small resistance group, too, but, uh.. we're puny. Chess and A/V Club mostly." He hesitated. "Hey, you want me to come meet you?"

"No. No. Uh.. I want you to get in with the attack crowd, OK? Be my eyes on the inside. I'm going to be helping out on the other side."

"I'll try, but Clair, those guys hate me, really."

"Yeah, well." She looked back at Manny, giving him a grin. "Don't underestimate them, OK? Times like this brings out the best in some folks."

"Yeah, and then there's, you know, Hitler."

"Go back to bed, Keith."

"Right. Will do. 'Night."

" 'Night." She hung up, motioning to Manny to follow, and together they crept through the shadows out onto the side street.

They followed the side street through an underpass, around the back of New Salem High, and then down a small hill. Clair gestured off to their left, and they turned onto Main Street, sticking close to the walls.

"I don't like this."

"Listen, if they're going to let a blue-skinned flame-haired loudmouth like Holt into this place, they're not going to bat an eyelash at either of us."

"How do you know?" Manny whimpered, looking up and down the street. "What if we get arrested? Huh?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Did you see the police station? It's a disaster. I don't think they want to arrest anyone."

"Well, then, what if they just shoot us?"

She blinked, swallowing hard. "That had not occurred to me. Look, there it is. Come on."

They hurried across the street, Manny huffing with anxiety. He followed Clair into the dim interior of the Crow's Nest, head bowed, his back stooped.

Holt sat at the bar, chatting with the bartender, an elderly wiry man with an expression of disbelieving terror on his face. The only lights were behind the bar, illuminating a long row of impressive bottles and ornate glasses. The dark chestnut walls flickered with firelight from Heath's hair and eyes as he circled the bar's only pool table with a cue stick in one hand.

Holt, in mid-conversation, glanced at her and raised his glass before turning back to the stricken bartender to continue his story.

Clair nudged Manny, pointing towards Heath, and Manny nodded, moving away. She walked to the bar, sliding onto the stool beside Holt, and gave the bartender a quick, nervous smile.

He gave her a cursory, disinterested glance. She noticed how transfixed he was by Heath, watching as the boy and Manny moved around the pool table, leaning down across it, Heath patting out the small fires leaping off his arms, laughing.

Holt slung an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close enough that she could smell his unique variety of smells: alcohol, soot, his own peculiar fragrance of smoke, leather, and sweet-scented aftershave. "Hey. Thanks for comin' by. You wanna drink?"

She gave him her sweetest smile, turning to the bartender. "Coke?"

"With rum," said Holt.

"Uh.. no rum."

"A little rum."

"No rum." She turned, facing Holt, and pressed her hands into the pockets of her jeans, grabbing at the stoppered vial in the right-hand pocket, anxious. She stared at him, searching for something to say, and a slow smile spread across his face. He cocked an eyebrow, winking, and slammed one hand on the bar, making the elderly tender startle as he poured Clair's Coke.

"Hey! Crank the tunes. Let's get out on the floor!"

"Oh, no. No, I don't - "

"Oh yeah, you do!" He seized her around the waist with the crook of his arm, pulling her along as he hurried out into the empty space between the tables. He took her wrist, spinning her out and away, pulling her back, and she found herself going along with it. She slipped her hands into his. The bartender, obedient if somewhat cowed, turned up the volume on the radio.

"Disco," Clair said, and Holt nodded, smirking.

"You can hang, can't you? You can't do the Hustle?" He released her for a moment, demonstrating, and she barked laughter at him, hearing Heath and Manny behind her doing the same. He took her hands again, pulling, and she recoiled with a shake of her head.

"You know I don't like to dance."

"Aw, don't be like that. Come on. Let DJ Double H teach you some moves. How 'bout it?" He fused the Hustle into the Electric Slide, bumping up alongside her, and put his hands on her hips. "It's all right here. It's not hard. Damn," he said, as she pushed him back half a step, "Jackson likes a fight, doesn't he?"

"Go for the eyes," Heath said, and Manny chuckled, slapping his shoulder.

"You think you can teach me to dance?"

Holt grinned. "Why? You think you know how?"

She huffed, glaring. He caught the hesitation, still grinning, and let out a peal of laughter.

"Hey, don't get mad. C'mere. It's easy." He put his hands on her hips again, pulling her close. "Now I know you've got rhythm, so count with me. And-one, two, three, and-one, two, three, and-one, two, three.. Don't just mouth it, Clair, lemme hear it." He nodded as she raised her voice. "All right. Simple weight change step. You'll feel it," he gripped her left hip tight for a moment, "right here. On one, and back on the dropped four. And-one, two, three. And-one, two, three. You've got it." He stepped back, letting go, and clapped in rhythm. "There it is. You got it, girl, you got it! Where are your hands? What are you doin' with your hands? Let's see 'em. In the air, at your sides. You can even do a Pulp Fiction thing with 'em but I don't know if you can pull off an Uma Thurman already."

"Nobody can." Heath gave Manny a nudge, pushing him aside to get room for a play at the pool table. "Not even me."

"Hey, wouldja look at that." Holt beamed, clapping, shaking his head. He reached out to give Clair's shoulder a playful shove. "What do you know? She can be taught!" Stepping close, he said, "I'll be back for the second set, but, uh.. gotta make a pit stop first."

"Right." Clair swiped a hand across her forehead, watching Holt swagger towards the large sign for the restrooms. She hurried up to the bar, pulling the vial from her pocket, and worked off the wax cap with one thumbnail, brushing it off the bar onto the bartender's side. Under the music, she could hear the wail of fire engine sirens in the night, streaming down the street outside. She poured the thin liquid inside the tube into his drink, turning to watch the restroom doors over her shoulder, and accidentally spilled a few drops onto the bar itself. Cursing, she mopped these up with the edge of her shirt, picking up Holt's drink. She tossed the vial over the bar as Holt emerged from the restrooms, adjusting Heath's jacket on his shoulders. He turned, spotting her at the bar, and his grin intensified.

"Thirsty?" he said, taking his glass from her hand. He leaned in, too close for comfort, and Clair fumbled backwards, trying to find her Coke.

"Cheers." She held up her glass, almost hiding behind it.

He nodded, his grin fading just a touch, and took a long drink.

She sipped her Coke, setting the glass down, and watched, waiting.

Holt drank half the glass, wiping his mouth on the flame-decalled sleeve of Heath's jacket. He licked his lips, scowling first at her, then at Heath and Manny, still laughing over the pool table. He looked down into the glass, turning to the bartender, about to speak..

His outline burst into white light, searing her eyes. The brightness intensified as his coloration faded, caught in its field. He coughed, choking, and fell against the bar, striking his head, crumpling to the floor beneath. Clair forced herself to watch, wincing, knowing she had created this. His colors inverted. The brilliance flashed, covering him, flashing like quicksilver. The light receded, leaving a curled and whimpering form on the floor below the stools.

Clair knelt, reaching out. She couldn't see him in the dim light, spots dancing before her eyes. She grasped his upper arms. He grabbed onto her forearm, looking up.

"Jackson," she said, sighing with relief.

"Yes?" Eyes wide, he allowed her to help him to his feet. He put a hand to his head, confused.

She turned, ready to tell the bartender to crank the volume even higher. She came face to barrel with an ancient relic of a shotgun, shaking in the old man's hands. "That's about enough," he said, his voice as thin and wiry as his aged body. "I closed an hour ago, and I don't serve your kind. Get out."

"Whoa," said Heath, dropping his pool cue, hands up. They moved towards the door as one, eyes on the nervous old man. "We're cool, dude."

He cocked the gun, sneering. "Get thee behind me, fiery child of Hell!"

Manny gave Heath a shove as they passed through the doors, followed by Jackson and Clair. "I think he's coming on to you."

"Not the time, Manny." Clair tried to smile at the old man as he shepherded them out the door.

"Hey, man, take it easy," Jackson said, pushing his glasses up onto his forehead. "We're going. See?"

The bartender growled, raising the gun to shoulder level.

Manny turned, grabbing Heath by the collar, carrying him along as he charged across the street. Clair ducked, falling into the wall, and Jackson fell on top of her as the gun went off above them, blowing a chunk out of the door. Splinters scattered across them. They scrambled up as the old man expelled the spent shells onto the floor and took aim a second time.

Clair grabbed Jackson, half-dragging him out the door and around the corner. They hurried down a narrow alley between the bar and its closest neighbor, stumbling over trash and debris. At the alley's end Clair paused, panting, glancing around.

"I know this isn't a good time," Jackson said, "but I really need to know.."

They both startled at the sound of shotgun shells being racked into the chamber. The bartender hefted his gun, standing at the mouth of the alley. They took off, running across the deserted parking lot, across a side street, and down into a pocket of old-fashioned houses, slowing only when the streetlamps became few and far between.

Jackson put out a hand, gasping for air.

"Are you.. Are you all right?"

He gave her an incredulous look, grinning. "Peachy."

"Your hands.. look bruised. Are you sure?"

Jackson looked at his hands, thoughtful, then shook his head. He wiped sweat from his forehead, pulling his glasses aside, and frowned at her.

She nodded, waving at him as she straightened, taking great gulps of air. "I know. Let this be enough for now." She gave him a lopsided smile. "I found a way to get rid of Holt, maybe. It might be temporary. We need to get you back to the school."

He shook his head, shying away as she moved close. "I've got no place there, Clair. I'm safer with you."

"Your head is bleeding."

"I'm fine." He ducked her hand, offering an apologetic grin.

She walked to the edge of the house's shadow, glancing along the street. At the west edge of town, dawn had just begun, the pitch-black sky tilting towards a diluted midnight blue. Clouds of smoke continued to rise, wafting sidelong into the sky, but she heard fewer sirens now. The streets were empty and quiet in this area, the houses darkened, seemingly untouched by the tragic firestorm.

"Listen," she said, returning to where he sat in the grass. "We need to reconnect with Manny and Heath. I'm not leaving them here in town where the authorities will be free to have their way.. again."

"I've got Heath's number." Jackson fumbled in his pocket, pulling out his iCoffin. He frowned, showing it to Clair, who shrugged. "Holt's colors. Guess my phone hasn't made the transition yet. And why am I wearing Heath's coat?"

"Got me."

He scrolled with one thumb, then held the phone to his ear, watching the road. "Hey. Hang on a sec."

He handed the phone to Clair.

"Heath? Where are you?"

"Not sure.. running.."

She listened to him shouting at Manny. He brought the phone up to his face again, panting. "Passing the gas station. Manny says he knows a back way up to Monster High around here. Meet us."

He hung up, and she handed the phone back to Jackson with a sigh. "Come on. They're up past the gas station. I know a shortcut from here."


	64. Chapter 64

Draculaura woke with a gasp, sitting up.

She sat on a crude bed of folded towels, an extra-large beach towel thrown across her lower half like a blanket. Several feet away she saw Frankie and Clawdeen kneeling over Howleen, talking in hushed tones while the girl slept, and on the other side Scarah lay curled onto her side, her breathing slow and even. Lagoona and Gil sat at the edge of the pool, kicking their feet in the water, tense and silent.

She pushed the beach towel away and tucked her pocketbook under one arm, getting to her feet.

"Hey!" Frankie hurried to her side, taking her arm. "Are you all right?"

She laughed. "Of course. You know me. Where's Clawd?"

Frankie stepped in front of her as Clawdeen joined them. They both looked concerned. She crossed her arms, fixing them with a bored smirk.

"You passed out," Clawdeen said. "Like, out cold."

"Yes. I know. I'm fine now."

Frankie frowned, reaching out to put her palm against Draculaura's forehead. "Look, Lala, if you're going to be, uh, passing out like you do at the sight of 'you know what', maybe it would be best for you to stay here."

She scowled, a line appearing between her brows. "Where's Clawd?"

"He's helping to build a barricade in the front hall," said Clawdeen, jabbing a thumb towards the pool doors. Frankie turned, a look of shock and annoyance on her face.

She gave Clawdeen a relieved smile, moving towards the doors. "Thanks."

"Come on. You know she wasn't going to take our advice, right?" Clawdeen said, before their voices were muffled by the pool's double doors swinging shut.

Draculaura turned down the hall, walking along the lockers. The lights along the hall were out, but she saw flashlights and floodlamps shining from the main corridor. At this distance, she could hear shouting and the occasional squeal of metal as students forced tables from the creepateria into position. She turned the corner past the first set of doors for the gym and paused, watching as Clawd, Simon Clops, and Abbey worked together to lift a table, turn it onto one side, and balance it atop another while Abbey froze it in place.

"Is done," Abbey said, and the boys stood away from the table, looking back at it with a strange mix of caution and appreciative wonder. She brushed a loose strand of glistening blue-white hair from her face. "Will not melt or collapse. Do not worry."

"Yeah, well, wait until Heath gets here. Then we'll see." Clawd took off his cap, fanning his face. "Sy, go get another table, would you? I'm gonna get a drink."

Draculaura walked to the water fountain as Clawd jogged towards it, suppressing a giggle as he spotted her and startled sideways a few steps.

"Lala? Hey!" He gathered her into a one-armed embrace, leaning over the fountain. "Sorry. I've been working pretty hard. I probably reek like a wet dog by now."

"It's all right." She watched as he took a long drink, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand.

He cocked his head to one side at her. "So.. you're feeling better?"

"Oh, yeah. Totes." She frowned up at him, trying to smile but failing as she recalled what had made her lose consciousness in the first place. "How are you? Feeling any better yourself?"

"Sure," he said, scowling a bit, and scratched the back of his head. "Tired, you know, but other than that.. Are you ready for this? It's gonna get ugly."

She made a face, avoiding his eyes. "Like it was in New Salem?"

"Probably worse. I just don't want you.. you know.. losing it."

They stood in the dim hall, frowning at one another. She sighed, opening her pocketbook. "Don't worry about me."

"I just think maybe you should go home. I'll drive you, if you like. I don't mind."

"Clawd, it's almost dawn. Daddy's been home by now for a few hours and he knows I'm not there. As soon as I go home, I'm going to be grounded for a century. Might as well make it worthwhile, right?" She took a transparent plastic pouch from her purse, squeezing its crimson contents in her hand, and stared at it.

"Synthetics?"

She nodded. "I'm so hungry.. and these are so gross, but maybe I need the edge."

They both turned at the sound of Gorey's laughter. "Oh, sweetie." She passed them, carrying an armload of folding metal chairs. "If you want an edge, that junk won't cut it. Needs to be the real stuff." She set down the chairs, turning as she dusted off her hands and checked her manicure.

"Oh. Well, um.. do you.. have any?"

Gorey and Clawd exchanged an almost identical look of shocked surprise. She recovered first, shaking her head. "It goes bad so fast, it's really not worth preserving on your own without certain expensive supplies. But we're about to get a delivery, you hear me? And if you're interested, I'll make sure to set aside something for you."

Draculaura looked down at the bag in her hands, frowning. Her stomach growled, loud enough for all three of them to hear, and she stuffed the pouch back into her pocketbook. "Sure. All right. Yes. I'll do it."

Gorey nodded. "There's a group of us on the left side of the hall. Come stand with us for the attack. I'll make sure you're taken care of." She stepped back as Simon and Abbey came through, each carrying another table from the creepateria, and headed back in the direction of the clawditorium.

Clawd turned, staring down at his girlfriend. "Are you sure about this?"

She shrugged, looking away.

"You're not doing this because of me, are you, Draculaura?"

"What? Don't be silly. Why does everyone question my choices? Jeez." She rolled her eyes at him, hitching her pocketbook up on her shoulder, and tossed her hair back over her shoulder. "I'm going to help with the barricades on the vampire side. See you later."

"Yeah," he said, as Simon called for his help with the new tables, even though it wasn't at all what he wanted to say. "OK. See you."


	65. Chapter 65

"Cruiser," Heath said, skidding to a halt, but Manny kept going, his breath like puffs of steam in the chilly early morning air.

"Are you for real?" Clair huffed, panting, struggling to keep up. "This is the third one."

Heath caught up, keeping pace right behind Manny. "How you holdin' up, cuz?"

Jackson, tucked under Manny's arm like a lanky and disgruntled football, frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. "Are we almost there? All this bouncing is making me nauseous."

"You better not puke on my new shoes," Manny said, swinging out into the intersection as the sirens wailed and the cruiser screeched to a halt on their left. "My mom paid like sixty bucks for these and she'd be so mad."

Doors slammed as the officers left the cruiser, dropping into firing positions behind the hood and the trunk.

"Halt," a voice over a megaphone blared at them. Clair glanced back as they crossed the intersection.

"How many?"

"Six." She staggered back as Manny tossed Jackson into her chest. Winded, she fell, landing on her ass while Jackson yowled in pain and indignation. Manny turned, heading back towards the cruiser, as Heath helped her to her feet. "Wait! What are you - "

The officers opened fire, already backing up as Manny charged the cruiser, bellowing. His horns sank into the front quarter-panel. An officer pulled himself into the driver's seat seconds before the car began to turn, tires skidding on the road. The officers crouched behind the trunk shouted, running, but the second got caught and knocked sideways by the cruiser's trunk.

Heath tugged at Clair's sleeve. "He'll be fine. Come on."

She turned, but kept glancing back, moving slow. "Has he done this before?"

Heath shrugged, jogging ahead; Jackson wheezed at her side, replacing his glasses. "He's got an uncle who can pull a full-size tractor six hundred yards with just his teeth. So, you know, a little bit of family pressure."

Manny tore through the car like it was made of aluminum foil, roaring, and pulled the driver's door open. He reached in, jerking the keys out of the ignition, and threw them behind him. He pulled the officer out of the deceased car by his collar, tossing him to the street.

Clair startled, stumbling, as gunshots sounded behind them. She turned, watching Manny toss one body into a gathered mass of scattering bodies, unable to tell who had fired or who had been hit.

"This way, I think." Heath sprinted across a T-intersection towards a concrete embankment, hurtling one-handed over it in one easy movement.

Clair slowed, dodging the embankment instead, and caught up to them. "Track team.. right? Or gymnastics?"

He laughed. To their right, the sky turned pale purple, pink light bursting at the horizon, caterpillar-patterned through trees and low hills.

"Jackson?" She peered at him as he nodded, gasping for air. "You OK?"

"Fine." He straightened, glancing back the way they came. "Let's wait up. I want to know he's all right."

Heath shook his head, bouncing from one foot to the other. "He's fine. Let's go before they decide to shoot us, too."

Clair shot him a look, and he sagged, frowning.

For a minute, they stood in silence, listening to their own ragged breathing and the sound of sirens swirling out of New Salem. Then they heard a familiar broken bellow and Manny hurtled over the embankment, charging towards them.

"Told you," Heath said, running ahead to keep pace once Manny caught up.

Clair and Jackson faltered, lagging behind. She noticed rips in Manny's shirt and several suspicious dark gashes on his legs, but he moved easily and she didn't see any obvious blood, so they kept going.

The dirt road rolled over a small steep hill, then into a valley and around a curve. She tried squinting into the trees but there still wasn't enough light to see ahead to the school. Heath and Manny raced neck-and-neck down the incline, kicking up dust as they skidded around the corner. She looked back. At the T, cruisers sat, their lights flashing, screaming at one another. She watched a cruiser roar through the light, flying up and over the concrete barrier, landing at an angle on the dirt road, the driver inside hunched over the wheel as he corrected and evened out the car's path.

"We're being followed," she said, and Jackson looked back, disbelieving.

They half-ran, half-slid down the incline as the siren came closer. Jackson knocked her into the dust, hands over his own ears, and the cruiser shrieked over them, crashing into slender trees on the opposite side of the road before plowing through the grassy meadow beyond.

A second cruiser jumped the hill as they followed the path of the first, but the driver hesitated on the hill and struck the road nose-first, flipping the car onto its roof.

Manny and Heath raced along the curving dirt road on their left-hand side. She could see Heath's flames as he spotted the cruiser, skidding sideways in a plume of dirt, trying to stop his own forward momentum. Manny turned, angling himself towards the vehicle, and put on speed.

Ahead of her, Jackson toppled forward in the grass, crying out. She fell beside him, trying to wrestle him to his feet.

"Your hands," she said, but he ignored her, regaining his feet, rushing forward. "They're so bruised. Jackson!"

The cruiser slammed through the border of thin elm trees, rolling to a halt on the dirt road. The driver kicked open his door, pulling out his gun.

Manny hit the front of the car horns first. The officer fired twice, bullets pinging off the hood as it began to crumple inwards. Heath, rounding the corner, shot a quick fireball at the driver side door, startling him back, but he recovered and fired twice more. Manny grunted as the second shot sank into the meat of his shoulder, spattering the cruiser's grill with bright blood. The car began to move back. The officer, still trying to hit Manny, recoiled as the door pushed him back, then dodged around it, moving out into the meadow.

"Get clear!" Heath said, waving one fiery hand at Clair, but she shook her head, scanning the meadow for Jackson.

Behind them, a third cruiser shot over the tiny hill, soaring over the remains of the second, landing sideways in the meadow. Clair spotted two officers in the treeline behind them, taking aim. She scanned the meadow again, desperation crawling up from her gut._ Don't go like this, Jackson. Don't pull this on me._

Manny dragged his horns up through the cruiser's grill, shaking off the curling shards of metal, and looked around, huffing.

In the meadow, the officer dropped to a crouch, taking aim.

Heath noticed the third cruiser and focused fire there, blowing the rear end off the road as it rounded the curve. One of its tires burst and it squealed sideways into the tree border, grinding to a halt. He turned back to Clair, squinting against the sunrise, and motioned again for her to leave the meadow, but she ignored him.

Manny gave the cruiser a shove, pushing it back and sideways into the treeline. He turned, heading towards Heath.

A chorus of gunshots sounded. Clair dropped to her belly in the grass. She popped up to take stock a second later.

The two officers in the treeline still stood, aiming at Heath as he ran for cover behind Manny's cruiser. Manny had hit his knees in the dirt, glaring out at the meadow, tiny eyes slitted as he tried to spot his attacker. In the grass about a hundred yards ahead, she watched Jackson get to his feet. He held a gun in one hand.

She darted forward, lunging for him, and the gunfire chorus sounded a second time. They collided, landing hard in the dirt. Jackson grimaced, one lens of his glasses broken as he turned towards her. "We have got to stop meeting like this."

"Come on!" Heath slammed the driver's side door on the cruiser, putting it in reverse and cruising backwards down the sloping incline.

Clair stood, Jackson at her side, and they ran for the car as it rolled to a stop. She watched him climb into the passenger side, holding the door handle with one sweaty hand, looking back.

"Get in!"

"I'm not leaving him!"

Heath made an exasperated face at her. "We're not! Get your stupid ass in the car!"

She did, and he gunned the engine, roaring up the incline and over it. The cruiser caught air, floating for a second before it smashed down into the dirt, and Heath jerked the wheel sideways, kicking up a huge dust cloud as he spun donuts in the dirt road.

They slammed to a halt. She noticed both she and Jackson were clinging to the car interior.

Heath rolled down his window. "Manny! Come on, man!"

"How do you know you didn't run him over?"

He cocked an eyebrow at Jackson, smirking. "I'd have an easier time running over Cthulhu. Manny! Let's go, dude!"

The dust began to settle. Clair thought she could hear the now-familiar ruckus of running police officers, but as she peered through the haze, she spotted Manny's horns and the bulk of his shoulders moving up over the roadside, edging through the thin trees. He half-limped, half-jogged towards the cruiser, holding his left arm.

"There he is." Heath meant it to sound proud, a statement of the obvious, but it came out with an edge of relief.

Clair kicked her own door open, sliding sideways, and he climbed in beside her, cramming himself into the too-small quarters with a grin. He pulled the door shut.

Heath nodded at him in the rear view mirror. He spun the cruiser around, down-shifting, and they raced towards the school.


	66. Chapter 66

Deuce knocked twice at the doors, hanging into the room by one arm. "Frankie, you busy?"

"Uh, no. Not really." She stood, snapping shut the first aid case by her side. "Why?"

"Cleo wants to see us in the Headmistress' office." He glanced at the students laid out on the floor. "How are they doing? Is Scarah up yet?"

Frankie shrugged, moving closer. "Howleen's still unconscious but she's stable, so, that's good. I'm more worried about Scarah. She's fairly alert and responsive, but she seems.. I don't know.. distracted? She's having problems with focus and attention. I think she might have suffered some kind of head injury, which I wouldn't be able to even notice."

He nodded, solemn. "Is she awake now?"

"Right now? I think so." Frankie frowned. "Cleo wants to see her, too?"

"Yeah. Get Lagoona, too, if she's around. I'll meet you upstairs." He turned, heading up the stairs at the end of the hall, scrolling through his contacts. Staring down at his phone, deep in thought, he didn't notice Rochelle heading in the opposite direction until he collided with her. He bounced off her solid form and stumbled back several steps, one hand on his chest, sure he'd develop a bruise. "Oh, hey," he said, as she apologized and helped him to his feet. "Sorry about that."

"_Non_, it was my mistake. I was not looking." She gave him a shy smile.

"In a hurry?"

She shrugged. "The Headmistress has asked that I find for her a skull which she used to keep on her bookshelf. It is a prized possession and she is very disturbed by its loss. Ghoulia brought it into the catacombs, as part of the decor for the party, she says."

"Seems like a strange item to crave all of a sudden."

Rochelle's mouth quirked up as she nodded. "The Headmistress has not had an easy night. And you? Where are you going?"

"The office," he said, gesturing down the hall behind her.

"_Ah, oui_. There is quite a lot of noise in there at the moment." She stood back, brows raised. "Cleo has returned?"

"Somewhat unexpectedly, yes." He cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck. "Are we cool?"

Rochelle straightened, her eyes amused. "Afraid that I will embarrass you in front of your girlfriend?"

"Uh.. A little bit, yeah."

She shook her head. "I have already explained to you my feelings for Garrotte. She is welcome to come to me with any grievances. I will be honest, but not cruel."

Deuce frowned, unsure. "So, is that a no, or what?"

Rochelle's gaze sharpened on him, wary. "I will not lie to her."

"I wouldn't ask you to. I mean, I'm not. I don't plan to." Deuce sighed, frustrated. "I mean.."

"Hey, Rochelle!" Frankie gave her a wave, one arm supporting Scarah as they came up the stairs. Lagoona trailed behind, her expression pensive. "Where are you headed?"

"Catacombs. There is something the Headmistress needs." She gave Deuce a glance, anxious. "I'm sorry, I must hurry. _Bon chance_!" she said, and gave them a brief wave, hurrying down the stairs.

* * * * *

Deuce hefted the massive bag of ancient totems over his shoulder, following Cleo through the narrow set of double doors onto the balcony. "I'm ready to talk."

"Well, I'm not." Cleo gestured to the corner of the balcony, looking out at the distant sunrise, then down into the courtyard. "Put them there. That will be fine."

He shoved the bag into the corner, then turned to her.

"That's all," she said, avoiding his gaze. "You should go into the catacombs with the others now."

He sighed, shifting his weight, then nodded, frowning. "All right. Whatever."

As he passed through the doors, she grabbed the sleeve of his hoodie, her grip fierce, and he turned around, covering her hand with his own. She stared at the car rumbling up to the school gates. He squinted against the glare of the sun, trying to make out details.

"It's a New Salem cruiser, all right. No lights, no siren, badly damaged."

They watched as the vehicle sat outside the closed gates, exhaust puffing from its back end.

"They could be waiting on backup." Cleo stood back, arms crossed. With a frown, she asked Deuce, "How are our defenses downstairs?"

"Uh.. partially constructed?" He shook his head, shrugging. "No way we're ready yet."

She stared at the car, biting her lower lip, strands of her dark hair drifting in a gentle breeze.

Beside her, Deuce startled as his phone rang. "Yo. What's up? ... Son of a bitch. Cleo," he said, holding the phone away from his mouth, "that's Heath."

"Heath? Heath Burns?" She looked down at the cruiser. Her expression was aghast, but he saw the relaxed slope of her shoulders. "Well, all right, I suppose. Though I'm not particularly relieved at that." She pulled out her iCoffin, dialing Rochelle.

"_Oui_?"

"Rochelle. You're on the gates?"

"_Oui_."

He saw her grip on the phone tighten, her fine dark fingers paling with tension. "If a car approaches the gate, you need to let me know, as well as Spectra, Scarah, and Twyla. For all our sakes. Understood?"

"_Oui, mademoiselle_. And this one?"

"Apparently it's Heath. Have Scarah check it out before you let him through." She hung up while Rochelle said goodbye. Slipping the phone into her purse, she said, "I know something happened between the two of you, but I am not ready to talk about it yet. We need to get through this together. I can't risk falling apart now." She bowed her head, dark hair falling across her face like a shield. "Please go downstairs and help Hoodude and Gil along. I know you won't disappoint me in that, at least."

"Right. OK." He hesitated long enough for her to turn, annoyed, one palm out to push him away. Nodding, Deuce left her on the balcony.


	67. Chapter 67

Scarah winced, her fingertips to her temple. "Aye, it's him, all right. No one unfamiliar or unfriendly in there."

"_Merci_." Rochelle walked to the center of the gate, unlocking the massive padlock and pulling it open wide. Spectra floated through the wrought iron fence, getting a shot of the back of the cruiser and the heavy chain and padlock wrapped around Rochelle's arm as she held the gates.

Twyla stood at Scarah's side, waving to the car's inhabitants as they passed through. As Rochelle closed the gate and Spectra zoomed across the courtyard, she looked into Scarah's face, frowning. "Are you sure you're well enough for this?"

"Oh, aye. It will take some time before I'm able to do this without the pain." She smirked, rubbing at her forehead. "I'm lucky to be able to do it at all, after what they did."

Twyla's brows knit together. She opened her mouth, about to ask, when she spotted Ghoulia making her way across the courtyard towards them. She smiled, patting Scarah's arm. "Ghoulia's here already. Why don't we go up to the steps to meet her?"

"All right. It's very sweet of you," Scarah said, putting one hand over Twyla's own with a smile, "lookin' after me like this."

"Oh, well.." Twyla shrugged, her cheeks pink-tinged. "I know what it's like to be 'bad news', you know? I mean, at my old school, I was.. like.. diseased. The way people reacted. It really sucked."

Scarah nodded. "There's a good heart in Monster High, I'll give it that, but not all monsters are so considerate. Seems to me some folks will like you and some folks just won't, and there's nothin' you can do to change it either way."

"Uuuuhhh," said Ghoulia, smiling, as they met her halfway. She pushed a thick, worn notebook at Scarah with a grunt.

Scarah accepted the notebook, continuing towards the steps. Ghoulia trailed them, watching as Scarah opened the cover, peering at Ghoulia's notes within.

They passed the scarred and smoking cruiser, parked lengthwise in front of the steps like a waiting limo, and sat on the stairs.

"These are the names in the signatures Billy gave me?"

Ghoulia nodded, and Scarah put one hand to her mouth, her entire body tensing inwards.

Rochelle landed atop the police cruiser in a crouch, the car squealing under her weight. "I couldn't find it. Do you have any idea where it might be?"

Ghoulia peered up at her, adjusting her glasses, one eyebrow raised. "Uuuhhh?"

"The skull. I checked all through the dance hall, the halls around it, halfway up into zombie territory, along the SKRM route. Nothing. I asked people who had been at the party, and no one even saw it. I'm afraid we might never find it now. Poor Headmistress."

"Rrraagghh." Ghoulia frowned, stroking her chin.

Scarah gasped, flattening out several sheets of sketch paper taped into the notebook. "It's the map. Billy's map. Goodfellow's, I should say. Oh, Ghoulia. How did you manage this?"

The zombie girl shrugged one shoulder, giving a non-commital whine. She pointed to several key points on the map, and Scarah leaned down, frowning at it.

"Why would Goodfellow need a map of the school? And this red splotch here - what is that? Where is it?"

Ghoulia groaned, casting a sidelong look at Rochelle, who frowned with worry. "That's the Headmistress' office, isn't it?"

She nodded, jabbing one bony finger at the red splotch. "Rrraauugghhhrr."

Rochelle sighed, glancing back at the gates. "Well, we're not going to find the skull now. Too late for that."

"I feel like I'm missing something," Scarah said, flipping back between the map and the page with info on the signatures. "There's a link here, an explanation, and I just can't quite make it today. Oh, my head."

Ghoulia nodded, folding the map into the notebook as she gently took it from the girl's lap. She patted Scarah's shoulder. "Uuuggghhh. Uurraaarrrrgghh."

"Come on, Scarah." Twyla straightened, reaching out. "Let's get back on the gates, all right? We can look at all of this later. We really need to be on point right now. Look -" she pointed ahead to a flash of wispy purple and silver - "Spectra's waiting for us."

"Right." Scarah accepted her hand, getting to her feet, and gave Ghoulia a smile. "Thank you so much for all the work you put into the research. It's intriguing. I'm sorry I can't devote more time to it right now."

The zombie shrugged, grinning at them, and rose to shuffle slowly into the school.


	68. Chapter 68

The foursome paused just past the main corridor of hallways, surrounded by icy walls, blinking in the floodlights and the frenzy of activity as students clicked off the lights and hurried to clean up.

"Yo," said Clawd, squeezing himself between the end of the hallway and the wall of tables, hurrying forward to welcome them. He embraced Heath as Abbey appeared in the gap behind him. Clawd reached out for Manny, taking the minotaur's hand before pulling him into an embrace, but Manny faltered, leaning down onto one knee with an audible groan.

"He needs help." Clair moved Clawd back a step as Heath knelt beside the boy.

"Hey, man. You holding up all right?"

Manny reached up to take Clair's hand as Heath helped him to his feet. His red shirt, pockmarked and stained, left a smear along Clair's arm as he pulled himself up.

Clawd backed towards the hall opening, hurrying through the doors of the gym beyond. Abbey backed away to make room for them. "Come on through here. Frankie's set up in the 'infirmary'." He cast a grin over his shoulder at Heath. "Ironic, huh?"

Clair watched, hanging back, as Clawd and Heath guided Manny into the gym. She turned to Jackson, folding her arms across her chest. "How about you? Are you.."

"I'm fine. Thanks." His mouth twitched into a smile, hands clenching and unclenching. "You?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "Well, I managed to avoid getting shot, so.." She watched him, the way he stood, the way he moved his hands, and frowned. "Are you sure? If you're not OK, you should let me know."

He glanced back at the cluster of curious students behind the barricade, some of whom turned away to busy themselves, others continuing to watch him. Jackson touched her shoulder, walking back with her into the dim hallway. "Listen," he said, his voice a low murmur. "I'm not OK. I'm feeling really strange right now. My emotions are all over the place. I'm so disorganized, and it's kind of freaking me out."

She nodded. "I get it. I'm sure we're all in the same boat right now."

"No. Don't say 'I get it', OK, because you don't." He stared at her, his eyes hard behind his broken and twisted glasses. "Nobody does. Every moment of every day I'm questioning whether or not I am me. Do you 'get' that? People think I'm socially awkward, weird, nerdy, and they think it's because, you know, just who I am - but it's because of him. I can't go to parties because of him. I can't go on dates because of him. I can't.. can't do anything." He stopped gesturing, holding up his hands for her to see. The bruising had intensified, covering most of both hands. She realized with a cold chill that it was a splotchy pattern of blue-tinged skin, brightening and fading as she watched. "Look at my hands, Clair. Look at my hair. I'm not me. I don't know what's happening."

She took his hands into her own, stepping closer. "I'm scared, too, OK? You want me to stay here with you?"

Jackson eyed her for a moment, then nodded, looking away. "I just.. I don't want him getting out, flying off the handle like he does."

"He won't."

He gave a grim laugh. Pulling one of his hands from her grasp, he removed his glasses, hanging them over the neckline of his vest. "You don't know that. And I don't think either of us is really fond of comforting lies."

Clawd came through the gym doors, Heath at his side. They scanned the hall, talking in low tones. Heath, spotting Jackson, gave him a wave, which Jackson returned. Clawd moved towards them, glancing back as Heath drifted away, gravitating towards Abbey.

"Hey. Manny's pretty beat up." Clawd winced, running one hand through his hair.

"How bad?"

Clawd shrugged. "At least three gunshot wounds, two in his legs, lots of cuts along the top of his head, and what looks like a stab wound or something in his chest. Frankie doesn't have all the stuff she'd need to get him fixed up. If you ask me, I don't think he's going to be content to hang out in there. She's calling her dad right now. Look.. do you guys have any idea how long we've got?"

Clair shrugged, exchanging a glance with Jackson. "If they followed us," Jackson said, "it would be safe to estimate they'll arrive anytime in the next hour or two. They're likely to wait for daylight and try to lure us out rather than rushing in."

"Any idea what they might bring in with them as far as artillery goes?"

He shook his head. Clair said, "It's a small town. I think we've got riot gear but it probably hasn't been used since the '60s. Tear gas, maybe smoke bombs. Will those be an issue?"

Clawd considered, looking back over his shoulder. "For the highly sensitive students - werewolves, vampires - yeah. Not the smoke bombs so much, but the tear gas might take out most of our ground floor defense." He pulled out his phone. "I'm going to give Cleo and Ghoulia a call, just let them know, if you don't mind."

"Sure. No problem. In fact.." She turned to Jackson, her eyes bright. "How's the science lab here? We could whip up a few simple biochemical agents on our own before they show up. I can put together mustard gas in half an hour flat."

"Nothing fatal," Clawd said, stepping away, folding one ear flat to his head.

Jackson stared at her, eyes wide. "Uh.. yeah. The lab's pretty good. It's up front, back the way we came."

"Well, quit staring and let's go." Her phone trilled as they pushed between the tables. She stared at it for a moment, then called out to Clawd. "We've got a crowd of students coming in underground. They're following the trail left from the storm drain."

"What? How'd they find out about that?"

She shrugged. "Must've gotten info from an officer, maybe Van Hellscream?"

Clawd shook his head. "Van Hellscream's dead. He's not talking to anyone, trust me."

"Knowing that passage, how dark and winding it is, it could be anywhere from two hours to five before they even make it onto the grounds."

"Unless they're smart.. or just determined." Jackson looked from Clair to Clawd, agitated. "Do we have anything set up in the catacombs?"

Clawd nodded. "Deuce and Operetta have a whole team down there working on it." Into the phone, he said, "Ghoulia? Did you catch all that?"

Jackson took Clair's hand, hurrying towards the Mad Science classroom. "Come on. We haven't got time to waste."


	69. Chapter 69

"So," said Abbey, eyeing Heath, arms crossed.

"Nice work." He ran a hand along the frozen seam between the tables and she smacked it away.

"Is not for you to touch."

He nodded, rubbing at his hand, which stung where she'd struck it. "You're mad at me, aren't you?"

She scoffed, looking away.

"Holt's my cousin, you know, he's family. Haven't you ever done something stupid for another yeti, even though you knew it was a bad idea?"

Her eyes narrowed, hair glittering as she turned to him. "Yeti do not have bad ideas. Bad ideas mean dying alone on mountain."

"All right. Fine. Well, fire elementals do, I guess, and Holt's got that fire elemental blood. He needed someone to keep an eye on him."

She shook her head, the set of her face stony and unreadable. "Am very busy. You should go."

"I thought I'd stay here, lend a hand."

"No. You are not welcome here. You have.. how to say.. control issues." She gave him a gentle shove, moving past him as he gawked. "Should speak with Cleo and Ghoulia. Am sure they can find a place for you."

"Well.." He sidled up alongside her as she touched up the seam along the base of the tables, thickening the ice, smoothing it out. "I'd hoped maybe you and I could work together."

She stood, fixing him with a cold stare. "Do you not understand? I will be clear, like fast running stream. You are too much a follower, Heath Burns. Where you are lead, you do not ask, and that is not wise. Was not wise to go back into New Salem. Was not wise to follow Holt. Should have let Holt die alone on mountain. Is family, yes, but is also very dangerous." She paused, her eyes distant, then scowled at him. "Is for this reason I do not want you following me anymore."

Heath stood for a moment, uncertain. She watched annoyance and the urge to fight flit across his face before he relaxed, accepting. "I'll just, uh.. go give Cleo a call, then."

She ignored him, walking away, and he slid his phone from his pocket with a sigh.

* * * * *

Lagoona turned to the half-dozen water monsters gathered in the pool behind her, rolling up the map of their underwater route. "All right, mates. Any questions? You there, in the back - what's all that splashing?"

A trio of monsters at the back of the pool scattered as tentacles lashed at the water's surface and a bubbling voice rose from beneath. Lagoona tensed, recognizing the distinctive American twang in their pronunciation.

"Oh, cuttlefish." She tucked the map under one arm, striding across the pool, trying to muster a confident smile. Gripping one of the tentacles, she ducked below the water, peering into an inky and irate blackness. "G'day! Mr and Mrs Webber, I presume? Gil's told me so much about you!"

The response consisted of another jet of ink, followed by a string of irate blubbering.

"I'm sorry, Gil isn't here right now. He's gone into the catacombs with some friends of ours." She winced as the mellow bubbling escalated to a series of dolphin-pitched shrieks. "Oh no, don't go! He'd be devastated! We were all just about to head down to get him. I'll be guiding the group through the Deep End. You're welcome to come along if you like."

The ink began to clear, leaving a murky darkness, and Mrs Webber's watery mumbling became questioning, though less shrieky.

"I have our route plotted out right here. It's not dangerous, except through the one spot in the dragon's lair, but it is a bit twisty. Easy to get lost. Would you like to see?"

A tentacle snatched the map from under her arm. She could make out Mr Webber unrolling the map, tentacles stroking across it as he muttered to himself. Mrs Webber commented on how thin and under-nourished she looked, asking whether there really was a dragon or if that was a bit of sea-monster foolishness. She bit her tongue as Mrs Webber's tentacles slid around her waist and legs, distinctly uncomfortable.

Another swimmer ducked down, peering at her. "Cleo's come over the intercom. Says we've got a few hours at most before New Salem arrives."

"All right. Thanks, Jonah. Mr Webber, may I have the map back, please?"

Blowing out a jet of bubbles, Mr Webber thrust the map at her, deftly rolling it into a tube. She tucked it into the strap of her diver's knife. "Just stay close to the other students. It would be safest at the back." She broke the surface, scanning the group. "Everyone ready? All right! Let's dive!"


	70. Chapter 70

Rochelle shot down the corridor at top speed, the tips of her wings cutting shards of metal and stone from the locker-lined hallway.

"We've got contact!" she said, breathless, pulling up at the sight of Abbey's ice walls.

A murmur went up behind the walls, then a series of conflicting questions. She held up her hands, shouting over them. "Six cruisers are on the road towards the gates. Spectra says she saw three more coming around the back, but we'll be able to see those long before they reach the school grounds."

Above them, the intercom crackled to life. Cleo's voice echoed along the vacant hallways. "Good morning, students of Monster High. This is your princess speaking. We have confirmed multiple reports of New Salem police cruisers en route to the school. Our zombie perimeter should delay them around the back. Clawd, your unit may need to offer support if the perimeter is overrun or broken."

Rochelle flinched aside as Spectra zoomed into the room, her arms laden with police paraphernalia. "Twyla's got more. I'm running these down to the boys downstairs. We need you out there. Scarah's going a bit loopy right now."

The gargoyle nodded, running back the way she'd come, as Cleo continued.

"There are rumors of New Salem High students attempting to invade through the catacombs as well. Rest assured they will not make it to the first floor, if they even make it onto the grounds. If you are injured, go to the infirmary at once. If you notice someone else is injured, take them to the infirmary at once. Wounded students will get in the way and cause more chaos than we need. If you have any additional information, contact myself or Ghoulia. Now.. show them what makes you a monster!"

A ragged cheer went up in the corridors. Manny pushed through the gym doors, snorting, and joined Clawd behind the barricade.

"We're gonna get 'em," he said, tossing his head, and Clawd nodded, trying not to notice the drying bloodstains on his friend's shirt or the bleary look in his eyes.

"Yeah," he said, willing himself to untie the knots in his stomach. Clawdeen squeezed his hand, and he smiled.

"Come on, Clawd. Get your head in the game." She grinned, quoting the school anthem at him in a sing-song voice. "We are monsters, we are proud. We are monsters, say it loud."

He nodded, surprised to hear the chorus taken up on the left side of the barricades as well. It grew louder, accompanied by stomping, crossing to the right side, and before he knew it the entire corridor rang with their song.

"The clock is striking thirteen.."

Behind them, a cluster of werewolves howled in off-key harmony.

"It's time to scream to your team.."

A shiver went down his spine as the intensity built, locker doors slamming in rhythm, a multitude of voices raised in pride and solidarity. The energy in their cramped and darkened quarters became electric, heightening his awareness, sharpening his senses.

"We don't have to say goodbye, 'cause friends like these will never die!"

Clawdeen gave him a shove and he shoved her back, wrestling her into a headlock, laughing. Here was a waiting army of monsters at his back, hungry for justice, fearless; how could he pay any attention to his own lingering fear in the face of their strength?


End file.
